


Let it All Unfurl

by fingersfallingupwards



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Other, Trans Issues, Trans!Ezio, Transgender, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingersfallingupwards/pseuds/fingersfallingupwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio is the embodiement of masculinity. But that isn't a reputation someone's born with, especially in Ezio's case. Transgender!Ezio</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There will be moments of ignorance and misunderstanding, but this fic is about growth and acceptance at its heart. So bear with me.
> 
> This fic is all complete and I update twice a week. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've gotta start somewhere

Pained cries ring through the night. Moving through the glass of the window he can see a woman, face red, eyes bloodshot and entire body convulsing.

_—He wonders who she is until the word “mother,” sparks in his head, unasked—_

Her dark hair, damp with sweat, sticks to olive skin flush with strain. The screams belong to her, and the pain does too. She pants and gasps and utters strings of syllables he can’t understand

— _until he does, and the prayers and curses on her lips don’t help him understand why he’s seeing what he is—_

Thankfully it’s over in the next few minutes. The woman in the bed collapses, out of energy. The midwife carefully cleans the child with a bit of fabric.

— _Irritatingly it seems that he’s traded one person’s cries for another, and the baby’s shriek is much more piercing—_

A man quickly strides through the door in an agitated way, distracting him for the moment. The newest addition to the room approaches the bed and eyes the woman with loving concern. His eyes move to the midwife suddenly, and she carefully presses the baby into his hands.

— _He gets the strangest sensation that something is seriously wrong with what he’s seeing. And when he finally realizes what’s awry, he doesn’t know how to compute the knowledge. If he was in his body right now, his mouth would be forming surprised expletives; as it is, he only thinks of them—_

The man’s eyes which were moments ago possessed by worry are now gleaming with pride and excitement. The large hands touch the child tenderly, grabbing its hands as it twitches blearily. When the baby’s fists jerk forward, the man lets out a loud bark of laughter.

“A fighter, I can already tell. Like all true Auditores.” His grin turns towards the exhausted though joyful woman.

“Have you settled on a name, mia caro?”

The man grins wider. “Ezio. Her name will be Ezio Auditore da Firenze.”

— _The scene is glitching and he knows that his time is up. The world gradually brightens until all he sees is white nothingness—_

—and he finds himself groggily blinking at a rather dull looking ceiling. Despite the discomfort in his body that he always feels after a rather trying session, he sits up. It’s then that he notices the wetness on his cheeks, and he bites back a groan as he sees that all of the others are staring at him. He’s quick to wipe the tears away. He never wants to be so up close and personal to being born ever again, despite the inexplicable feeling of newness that he’s trying very hard to suppress at the moment.  

“What?!” he demands irritably. “It was stressful, alright?!”

“That . . . isn’t why we’re staring,” Rebecca informs him, and while it’s true he hasn’t known her very long, he can still read her body language well enough to find the genuine shock there.

“What is it then?”

 “Shaun,” Lucy utters, and without further instruction the historian is flying towards his computer and pounding at the keyboard with frantic motions.

“Desmond, your ancestor is a woman,” Rebecca finally says.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. I thought Ezio was a guy, what gives?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Lucy says, and this is when he notices how pale she is. “All of our records show Ezio as being male.”

Shaun calls from his desk. “And they still say that. Everything points to his gender being male, even his birth registry.”

“Is it a glitch with the Animus?” Desmond asks, and Rebecca shoots him an affronted look.

Before the technician can reply with something Desmond is sure will be caustic, Lucy speaks. “Ezio must have faked his— _her_ identity.”

“She did have a lot of connections later on in life,” Shaun says, still clicking away, “It isn’t implausible that she used those to change her registry.”

“So, what, I have a cross-dressing ancestor?” Desmond asks exasperated. “This is gonna be a blast.”

“Perhaps she was hiding her identity,” Rebecca suggests. “An assassin’s life is hard. Especially if you’re a woman in renaissance Italy. The enlightenment only reached so far, and gender equality was sort of skipped over.”

“Or she might’ve been transsexual or even transgendered,” Shaun hypothesizes aloud, and as he speaks Desmond can see all those British cogs turning in his mind. “There are numerous accounts of transgendered persons through history, although there isn’t too much noted about them other than that they were generally pariahs if they revealed themselves. Most fell into their preset gender castes unless there was a third, liminal group for them like in India. There weren’t any transition operations at the time, so cross-dressing would the closest she could get. Oh, this could be incredibly informative.”

“A tranny. Even better.” Desmond is nowhere near amused by his new colleague’s excitement over the fact. Because at the end of the day, it’s going to be Desmond who’ll be shoved into the machine and a girl’s body.

“Your very American attempt at political correctness is duly noted, Desmond.” Shaun waves at him dismissively, and Desmond already knows that they are going to get on _wonderfully._

“This doesn’t change anything,” Lucy says decisively. “We can still use Ezio’s memories.”

“Will the bleeding effect still work if I’m a girl though? I mean, there’s gotta be a world of difference in our physiologies.” Not to mention that the very idea of following a woman through her life, ancestor or no, will give Desmond more info than he ever wants to know. He’s fine being a male, and even though on occasion he struggles to understand how women think, he doesn’t want to know that badly.

“Doesn’t matter, the bleeding effect will still work. That’s not how it works; you should know that by now, Desmond, because you’re a good four inches taller than Altair. Body doesn’t matter. Sorry dude,” Rebecca says, dashing his hopes thoroughly.

“Can’t we use Altair’s memories?” And yes, perhaps he is coming off a little bit whiny, but after the week he’s had he thinks he has a right to be. Getting pushed in a woman’s body really does top the cake.

Lucy shakes her head. “There might be useful information in Ezio’s memories. Besides, his— _her_ training is much gentler than Altair’s. It’s better this way.”

Glancing at Lucy he senses the slightest threads of uncertainty, and he feels a bit of pity for her. As if this entire thing wasn’t complicated enough already, throwing in the latest curveball really can’t help, because if their records are wrong about something as basic as Ezio’s gender, then who knows what else they’re wrong about.

Lucy looks each and every one of them in the eye firmly, as if everything is decided; and despite him newfound empathy, Desmond still really hates that because his father gave him that look way too often. “We’ll proceed as planned. If things go awry, somehow we’ll adjust. Everyone understand?”

Desmond wants to argue but can’t think of anything to say, so in the end he just grunts.

“Alright.”

He’s not looking forward to this at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. This is my attempt at spreading a little awareness of trans issuers.
> 
> A massive thanks to Chalybeous who Beta'd for me~
> 
> In case you missed it above:
> 
> WARNING: There will be moments of ignorance and misunderstanding, but this fic is about growth and acceptance at its heart. So bear with me.
> 
> Let me know what you think. More will come quickly~


	2. Mio Fratello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Federico spends some quality time with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chaly-dearest who beta'd this entire fic!

Federico knows when he hears of a brawl in the streets, that Ezio is nearby. He can’t help but smile as he dashes through the cobbled paths of Firenze towards what he assumes is quite a battle indeed if the shouts are as real as they sound. As he reaches the bridge, he’s treated to Ezio and several other teenagers fighting. Vieri is there, and Federico needs no other explanation for how this came about. Instead, he runs forward and clocks one of the Pazzi who was standing behind Ezio.

“Federico?!” Ezio says in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if baby brother learned to fight,” Federico grins, to which Ezio responds blindingly. Federico notices a bit of blood on Ezio’s lip, but the intent look in his brother’s eyes commands his attention.

“And?” Ezio asks, maybe even demands. As his older brother, there’s really nothing else that Federico can do besides turn back and clap him on the shoulder.

“You have style,” Federico lectures, “But endurance is where it counts.”

“I’ll show you endurance!” Ezio declares, throwing himself at a group of them, fists wild and passionate like all Auditores. Federico smiles and finishes a few of the men off. Vieri calls a retreat, and before Ezio can follow and instigate another brawl, Federico grabs his arm.

“Your face,” he says, grabbing his brother’s chin to look closer at the gash that covers part of Ezio’s lip. “Mother is not going to be happy.”

“It’s fine.” Ezio bats Federico’s hand away.

“Let the _dottore_ decide that one, _fratello_.”

“I’m lacking money, and besides I have no reason to visit the dottore.”

“Do you want it to become a nasty scar? You’ll ruin your pretty little face.”

“Women find them attractive,” Ezio counters.

“There is a limit to what women are willing to take. We’re going to the _dottore_. As for money . . . well, seeing as these men are out of commission, I don’t think they’ll be needing their money, do you?”

An impish smile appears on Ezio’s face, and Federico watches as his brother descends on the unconscious Pazzi members, raiding their pockets.

Federico exhales for a moment, taking in the lowering sun.

It’s moments like these where he wonders how in the world anyone can call Ezio a girl. Women did not fight with the vigor of a bull, women did not dismiss injuries that would scar, and no woman Federico has ever met would filch money from unconscious men. Everything seems so obvious to Federico. Sure Ezio appears one way in body, but in mind and spirit, the two things that really _matter,_ he is more masculine than many of the men Federico knows.

Father struggles with it, Federico knows. It’s in the concerned glances and furrowed brow that tells Federico that he worries about Ezio’s future. He understands where his father is coming from. Ezio prefers women to men, which considering his brother’s masculinity seems to be quite appropriate. The problem is that Ezio will never provide a child. Marrying off daughters is a matter that requires a father’s complete attention, and yet there is nothing he can do for Ezio. Their mother is much better. While Federico still catches the occasional wistful glance, he mostly finds understanding in her eyes. Aside from him, she seems to get it best. The two younger children are different. No one has explained to Petruccio what the situation is exactly, and Federico knows Ezio is unusually tentative about the matter. Federico has faith, however, that Petruccio will understand. Claudia is the one who struggles with it most, even more than father.

Claudia has never been able to reconcile the fact that Ezio is her brother, not sister. He imagines that she wished for an older sister to rely on for the little details of a woman’s life, to gossip with about the various boys in town. What she gets instead is a brother who is more than willing to beat down any person who dares to make his sister cry. While it softens Claudia to him, and Federico _knows_ that she loves him, Claudia has never accepted that Ezio is a man. Instead she waits, foot tapping, for Ezio to change— something Federico knows will never happen.

Maybe it’s because Federico is older, and remembers better than nine-year-old Claudia at the time how Ezio was before he started dressing and behaving like a man. His brother was suffering. His brother was withering away. And Federico never knew it until the day Ezio came down stairs in leggings and a loose white shirt. Because the brightness in his eyes, and the smiles he doled out were filled with a light Federico never knew existed. He felt like he finally met his sibling for the first time— as though everything else had been a shadow of the truth. That’s when their brotherhood began.

He blinks as his gaze catches something when Ezio is bent over a man. Federico hastily strides towards his brother, standing immediately in front of him.

“Ezio,” he says, quickly, urgently, “Your bindings.”

Ezio’s eyes widen. His gaze darts down to where his bindings have indeed come lose from his vigorous fight, allowing a feminine swell to be seen through the shirt. Ezio’s hands fly upwards, before dropping uselessly. Both of them know they can’t fix it here, and trying to hide them with his arms would attract attention. His younger brother’s eyes shoot towards the people still loitering around the area looking at the remnants of the fight, and Federico knows his little brother can sense all the women in the group gossiping. Their gazes remain on the unconscious men still, thankfully, and so Federico grabs his brother’s hands and pulls him forward.

“Keep close,” he murmurs. Federico thinks he senses Ezio’s nod but doesn’t dare look back. Ezio’s feet are nearly clipping his heels with every step as Federico navigates through the crowd. He leads Ezio towards one of the open air buildings that dot the city. The place is crumbling from age, but benches and flowers have been added in to create a pleasant sitting area. Thankfully, in this transitory, near sun-down part of the day, the small area is empty. He shoves his brother in and casually leans against the entryway, mechanically tracking the figures of women as they pass by, playing the part of the helpless reprobate people in town love him for.

Everything he figures is going well until he hears a small gasp. He can’t help but tilt his head a little. Ezio is standing stiff as a board, arm awkwardly extended towards his collarbone, and it trembles before dropping back to his side. His brother has his back towards Federico, but he still sees it. Apparently Ezio damaged more than just his face in the skirmish if the swelling of his shoulder is anything to go by.

“Ezio,” he utters. His brother flinches. “Can I—“

 “I— I can’t do it on my own,” he manages, trembling, and Federico doesn’t say a word. Instead he just approaches his brother from behind, with fingers mentally crossed that no one will come in.

With the bindings loose as they are, Federico can see exactly how slender his brother is without the three or four layers he wears around his midsection to belie the hour-glass figure. As he guessed, Ezio’s shoulder is actually quite swollen, and he’s surprised Ezio managed to raise his hand above his shoulder at all. Federico has always been taller than Ezio, and inadvertently he has a view straight over his brother’s shoulder to his chest. Ezio must know this too because his breathing is sharper, more pained. Then again, that might just be the strain of moving his arm so much. The bandages are completely off now, and unknotted so they can start fresh.

“Tell me what to do,” Federico says, training his eyes on the back of his brother’s head where his dark hair is pulled into its usual ponytail.

“Just help me wrap it around. Hold it to my side and I’ll pass it back to you.”

Federico grabs the end of the bandages and presses it to his brother’s ribcage before passing it across Ezio’s stomach to his brother’s expecting hand and then receiving it again.

It’s more complicated than Federico thought it would be, and it’s then that he realizes that he’s never seen Ezio do this. The next thing he realizes is that Ezio does this _every day._

The two carry on for some time, and Federico is focused so intently on his work that he doesn’t realize how much Ezio is shaking until he hears a soft sob. Federico’s hands freeze where they are. He can’t see his brother’s face fully, but the water glistens brightly enough for him to see it on Ezio’s cheek.

“I hate this,” Ezio says, “I hate this so fucking much. I fucking hate this. So much. _Figlio d'un cane!_ ”

Federico can’t understand it, not really, and so he keeps quite as they finish bandaging his chest. Ezio pulls back on his layers and Federico dutifully looks to the side while his brother swipes the tears away. When everything is said and done, Ezio looks normal— maybe his eyes are a little more red than usual, but otherwise he’s put together. Federico smiles, which Ezio does not return, but the older man remains undeterred. He slings an arm over his brother’s uninjured shoulder and steers him out of the small building.

He makes sure to keep his pace leisurely and the expression on his face as relaxed as he can make it. He’s worried about Ezio, but he has a feeling that his brother wouldn’t respond kindly to the concern, (that he would surely interpret as pity). Federico wonders if Ezio will say something about it, or if this entire happening will be tucked away in the vaults to prevent the pain from sneaking up on Ezio. It’s understandable if his brother doesn’t want to—

“Thank you,” Ezio mumbles. Federico turns to eye his brother, whose gaze is trained at the street. Federico looks at his brother’s face, and he finds the words he needs on the edge of his tongue.

“Of course. What are older brothers for? We’re all here just to protect out little baby brothers.”

Ezio’s eyes widen before relaxing all at once. Confidence and warmth fill his gaze. Federico rubs his brother’s uninjured shoulder once before finally letting his brother go so they can walk more comfortably side my side.

“Come now, _fratello,_ we must get to the _dottore_ to see if he can salvage anything of your lip. Your pretty face is your only asset!”

“Fuck you!” Ezio shouts, earning a few startled and offended looks.

“I bet Christina would agree with me,” Federico says as they walk to the doctor.

“I’ll make sure to ask her tonight.”

“Oh, let Christina sleep,” Federico protests.

“There will be time for that— later.” Ezio grins.

Federico just wonders how the hell he found Christina. With Ezio’s overly complicated situation, navigating the world is already challenging enough without adding love on top of it— somehow though, he finds what is likely one of the few women in all of Italia who understands Ezio and accepts him. It blows Federico away. It’s good though, for Ezio. It gives him more confidence— which he needs when he’s facing the adversity of a world that does not understand . . .

But Federico has faith in his baby brother. Ezio is strong enough to survive.

Besides, Federico will be with him every step of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think~


	3. Mia Figlia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni loves his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pronouns are important in this fic, as this story is told from others' points of view.

Giovanni doesn’t presume to be prideful man. He values religion highly, as most Italians do, and all Italians ought to. Falling prey to any one of the deadly sins is something he’s always been aware of and tried to avoid. When he holds the lives of evil and weak men in his hands, he wants them to be as clean as he can make them. Having hands free of prejudice and menial sins is the least he can do for those he sends to death— deserving of it they may be.

It’s hard though, not to be proud of himself and his family. His wife, the beautiful and passionate Maria, curious Petruccio, sensitive and brash Claudia, incorrigible and respectable Federico, and then there’s Ezio who . . . Well, Ezio enables his humbleness in many ways, especially when he faces some of the more ridiculous stunts his progeny commits.

An example can be found this very morning as Giovanni stands in the sunny patches of their courtyard, watching Ezio come swaggering in.

“ _Buon giorno,_ Father,” Ezio says, grinning, and Giovanni knows that his daughter’s most recent evening has been all that the older Auditore’s heard, and more.

“Come with me.” Giovanni gestures with his hand.

“Is something wrong?” Ezio asks, nervous in a way only those who’ve known Ezio her entire life could notice, and Giovanni is torn between laughter and anger. His daughter really thinks she can slide in the door and go take a nap like nothing happened.

“Do you think me blind and deaf, _mia figlia?!”_

She’s wincing now, and Giovanni thinks rightly so. It isn’t her actions that insult him, so much as her lack of faith in his information gathering abilities.

“I know all about your fight with the Pazzi, and then your little visit to Cristina! Your behavior is unacceptable! It— It—!”

But it seems Ezio gets his point, and he allows his tone to slip into a more jovial one.

“You remind me of me when I was a—“ His voice cuts out for a moment before he finishes. “A boy.”

A grin overtakes her face and he wants to smile and sigh with dismay at the same time.

Giovanni openly admits that he struggles with his daughter’s gender situation more than Maria. He’s hoping that any day she will change her mind and agree to wear the elaborate dresses and jewelry that Claudia so adores. In the meantime though, he can’t fully treat his child like a girl. The hurt in her eyes (which she tries, and always fails to hide from Giovanni’s piercing gaze) stays his hands every time. Anytime he references her troublemaking ways and boyish behaviors she _beams_ and _glows_ the same way Claudia does when he gifts her with some beautiful gem or jewelry. Ezio’s utter joy hurts his head, but her smile makes it almost worth it.

She walks up to him and kisses his cheek. He knows she would have preferred a hug, but he is firm on this. His daughters would kiss him on the cheek, no matter how boyish they may behave. Ezio thankfully has not put up that much of a fight for that one. Unlike everything else that was remotely feminine . . .

He can’t help but sigh as he pulls away.

“I expect your late night excursion won’t interfere with your errands today?” Giovanni raises a brow.

“Of course not, Father!” She’s still visibly buzzing from his words.

“Very well, then go see what your mother has for you to do. When you’re done, come find me in my office.”

“ _Si_ , Father, of course!”

And his daughter is already zipping towards her mother, eager to take the rooftops once more. Maria has something different in mind and gestures for a slightly put-out Ezio to follow her. Giovanni pauses for a moment and watches his daughter follow Maria into the streets.

He’ll admit that he struggles now and then to understand women. Claudia sometimes throws her hands up in the air when he asks the wrong question about some boy in town. Maria he’s known for over two decades and she still has the capacity to stun him. Ezio is a special case— always has been. He’s never understood his oldest daughter. Even years after Ezio began dressing like a boy Giovanni doesn’t get the reason _why_ , and he often thinks back to that night many years ago when Maria had calmly informed him that Ezio could not carry on as she had before, that she shouldn’t be forced to wear dresses. He always wishes he railed at her and denied her words at the time, and demanded why things could not be the way they were, but that night there was something so mournful about his wife’s expression that he conceded with Ezio’s whims for the moment. If only they were whims, and if only it was for a moment. It’s been six years since Ezio has been introducing himself as an Auditore son, and from the joyful expression on Ezio’s face, it isn’t likely to change soon. He wants it to change though, and has tried several subtle things in the past.

Giovanni’s heart hurts to imagine his children being miserable, and that isn’t what he’s after, but every now and then, he thinks of ways he could get Ezio to drop the whole thing and go back to the way she should be— he would buy the most expensive dress in all of Firenze if she would only wear it, and forgo her leggings. That doesn’t seem like it will happen anytime soon, so on occasion he tries to show Ezio what it really means to be a man, that it isn’t all fun and games. His most recent attempt certainly backfired on him.

His assigned Ezio errands in a hope of putting her off her male desires. The idea of a courier’s work was something women of her birth status never had to consider. He almost laughed at the thought of assigning the work to Claudia. She would shriek and protest something awful. He had been hoping Ezio would be the same way when he first suggested it after one of Ezio’s more dangerous skirmishes with the Pazzi, but was disappointed. Contrary to his hopes, she had taken to the chores with eagerness. Running up and down the streets and walls of Firenze filled her with joy and energy. No, it only gave her more of an excuse to behave in a manly way.

By the point he realized his mistake, it was too late to rectify it. Ezio’s mind and body already belonged to the terra cotta tiles that dotted the rooftops of Firenze. He remembers that elation— that _freedom_ too well to take it from someone once they have found it.

He sighs before going through the door into the darkened walls of his office. Giovanni sits down heavily in his chair. There are too many things in Giovanni’s life that he regrets already, and so Ezio cannot be one of them. . . but there are still times where he wonders when things went wrong.

Or perhaps, if God is punishing him.

He lifts his head and tucks the matter aside. He has work to do. Dangerous work.

There is a light knock at the door.

“Enter,” he calls, and the door opens to reveal the familiar figure of a friend.

“Ah, Uberto! Please come in. We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mia Figlia = My daughter, in case there was any confusion.
> 
> Giovanni doesn't understand, but many parents struggle with stuff like this. Maria is different than Giovanni though. She's coming soon~
> 
> Love for lovely Chalybeous~ my fabulous Beta~


	4. Mio Bambino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria does her best to understand her child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we learn a bit of Ezio's back story through Maria's struggle to understand. Trigger warnings for anyone who is bothered by anything regarding cutting or slicing. Nondescript, but still. You know who you are.

Maria walks through the familiar streets of their Firenze with small measured paces, hands clasped respectively near her chest. In contrast, Ezio walks with long strides and bright eyes. A group of young women pass by and an undeniably roguish look spreads over the teenager’s face, eliciting giggles from the gaggle of girls. Maria swats her child’s arm lightly. Ezio has spent far too much time with Federico, it seems.

“You’re thinking with things other than your mind, _il mio bambino._ You really must stop doing that.”

“M-mother!”

And Ezio sounds so shocked and appalled that Maria can’t help but smile a little. “You can do what you like on your own time; for now I need your attention here.”

“Where are we going anyways?” Ezio asks, studiously keeping her eyes forward, much to Maria’s subtle amusement.

“I need help moving some paintings. You’ll see in a moment, Ezio, we’re almost there.”

A few minutes later they stand before Leonardo’s workshop. The master himself is actually standing outside the door, no doubt in anticipation to greet them. Although his attention seemed to have wandered towards the nearby fauna while he waited, because he kneels beside the bush, examining it.

Maria clears her throat, drawing his attention. The artist jumps up in a display of that endless energy she is beginning to know him for.

“Ezio, this is Leonardo, a great painter.”

“You embellish,” he says humbly.

“And Leonardo meet _il_ _mio bambino_ , Ezio.”

The choice of wording does not give him pause, instead he addresses Ezio with a friendly smile, although she does see him running his eyes over her child curiously. Perhaps he finds there is something askew. Perhaps with those piercing eyes he can see through her disguise—

“A pleasure,” Leonardo smiles.

Maria composes herself quickly. “I asked Ezio along to help carry the portraits. They’re rather heavy, but my child is strong.”

“ _Bene_ , let me get them. Give me just a moment.” The man disappears from the door. In seconds he reappears with a medium sized box in his hands. The artist struggles with it a little, and Ezio moves forward immediately to take it from Leonardo. He gives Ezio a smile and another odd look.

“Let us go then.” Maria nods to her child.

“I will accompany you,” Leonardo offers before falling in step with Ezio.

Maria’s heart still hasn’t slowed down. Because Leonardo is perceptive. She has no doubt that sooner or later he will figure it out. She just hopes that it won’t lead to problems again. Ezio’s situation creates so many complications in life.

Maria does what she can to listen to her daughter’s assertions, but still finds it hard to comprehend. Why on earth did her beautiful Ezio want to be a boy so badly? After six years she still does not understand.

Despite that, she tries to support Ezio while she figures things out. That has not always been the case. When little four-year-old Ezio first said that she was a boy, Maria dismissed it as a passing fancy. Ezio persisted though, even as years passed her feelings didn’t change. Maria thought she was being rebellious and overly difficult. She understood that men seemed to have an easier time in the world, for they had more privilege. It might seem easier to be a man, but it was a foolish idea at most. And beyond that she certainly wouldn’t let Ezio behave in such a way. _She was a girl_ , and one day she would blossom into a woman.

Every day except for a few rainy days where the weather was too unpleasant to go outside, Maria and Annetta forced Ezio into expensive, beautiful little-girl dresses, making her the envy of all her age-mates. It was an irritation and a struggle with how much Ezio fought against them, and she and Ezio often dissolved into angry words at each other. Maria gave her time to get over it, because she was young still. One day Ezio would get used to wearing the dresses and then the corsets as she aged, and then they could all look back on this and tease her for being so rebellious and boyish before she, Claudia, and Ezio went out shopping—

It was on one of those rainy days in which it was too wet to go out that Maria realized that Ezio meant what she was saying. Their daughter had yet to come down for breakfast, and Maria went upstairs to investigate. Maria found her daughter sitting in the center of the room with shreds of cloth that had once been several expensive, beautiful little-girl dresses around her. Anger found her so quickly that she almost stepped forward to smack her ungrateful, rebellious child. The small stain of blood near Ezio’s hand stopped her. She moved forward to check her daughter’s state and found her looking blankly at the wall, seemingly unaware of Maria’s presence, and that she made a rather large slice in her hands in her attempt to rip her dresses to shreds. The knife was still beside her, and the first thing Maria did was pick it up and throw it under the bed. It took Maria three calls of her name and multiple shakes to get Ezio to look at her, and what Maria saw that day is something she’ll never forget. Her darling child looked at her, tears building in those familiar brown eyes, looking so incredibly lost and empty that Maria still aches thinking of it.

“ _Mama, I can’t do this,” Ezio burbled, finally starting to cry for real. “It feels so wrong. I can’t keep pretending like this. I wanna stop, I want everything to stop. I just want to be who I am. Why won’t anyone believe me? I feel like I’m gonna d-die.”_

Maria said nothing, just cradled her child. She and Annetta patched up her wound and Maria told Giovanni that Ezio was sick and she’s never spoken of it since. No one knows how exactly Ezio received the scar on her hand except Annetta, Maria, and Ezio herself. And Maria intends to keep it that way.

The day after finding Ezio in the piles of ripped dresses, Maria returned home with clothes from the tailor made for a boy, and light entered Ezio’s eyes. It has not left since, and Maria considers it a victory.

She does hope that one day Ezio will come around but vows to never force her child into anything again. The memory of the blood on the floor stays Maria’s hand from ever trying to do anything like it. She also presses Giovanni to go along with it as well, although she knows that he doesn’t understand it at all. Maria can’t bring herself to tell him about Ezio’s destruction of the dresses, the cut on her hand, and the words that are still so _painful_ that Maria can’t bring herself to speak aloud the memory that continues to haunt her mind. Giovanni is a family man through and through, and it’s part of why she loves him. If she can spare him the pain, she will.

 After Ezio began dressing like a boy and the neighborhood had gotten a hold of the gossip, the family moved away, hoping for a new start in Firenze. Which was exactly what they got.

Maria is happy here. She has a nice house and a steady income. More than that though, she has her passionate husband, and four beloved children. So she thinks, why do things have to change anyways? Sure Ezio is growing older, and the responsibilities of adulthood are slinking closer every day, but Maria finds it doesn’t matter to her as much as it once did. Ezio would find her way in the world.

Ezio is listening to Leonardo babble excitedly about his work with the same distracted attention she pays everything that is not a woman with fine breasts. Boy or girl, Maria discovers that Ezio will always be _Ezio._ The only true complication is what others will see . . .

Maria can no longer introduce Ezio as a girl, for that would show that they let their daughter run around in a state of dress that was entirely inappropriate, damaging the family reputation as well as upsetting Ezio and ruining their daughters future prospects, (if there were any, which Maria tries not to think about _too_ much.) Despite that, Maria finds herself unwilling to call Ezio her son, because there is still some part of her waiting for—

Instead she introduces her charming ‘child’ to acquaintances, neighbors, and friends. Let them make of her what they will. Her free-spirited child could never be fully captured by labels anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezio's breakdown was something . . . I dunno the word. It means a lot to me.
> 
> Let me know what you think of it.


	5. Mia Sorella, Mio Fratello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petruccio is curious sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for my beta, Chalybeous~

"Ezio, why do you dress like a boy?"

To Petruccio, the question seems simple enough, but when Ezio's hands hesitate over the feathers they're sorting on his bed, he think perhaps there's something wrong with it. His sister resumes the task almost immediately, but her deft fingers pull through the feathers slower now.

"Because it's more comfortable this way." Ezio's eyes are focused on the plumes.

"I suppose," Petruccio says. His nose wrinkles. "Claudia is always complaining about how tight her dresses are." Petruccio wouldn't want to wear them either. His older sister's eyes flick towards him for a moment. Her posture is really tense, like it is before she jumps off the side of their house into the carts of hay that are always nearby.

"That's very true." Ezio nods. "Dresses are really uncomfortable to wear, but that isn't exactly what I meant."

"Huh?"

"I . . . am more comfortable wearing boy's clothes than girl's. I like doing boy things, like running errands for Papa, and fighting, and riding horses." Ezio's words are slow, but Petruccio understands. If he was a little stronger and a little less sick, then those would be the kinds of things he'd fill his days with.

"Mother says you're boyish." Petruccio pulls an especially long feather out of the pile and examines it.

Ezio sighs heavily. "Yes, she does. But there is more to it than that."

"Is it why you don't like her calling you that?" Petruccio wonders, looking upwards to his sister whose gaze is still on the feathers.

"It's a little complicated— but I think that God maybe got a little confused and put me into a girl's body by accident."

Petruccio is surprised by what his sister said. Because Mother and Father and the priests always say God never makes mistakes. But his sister is finally looking into his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Petruccio asks.

"I am a guy in here," Ezio says, tapping his head and heart. "But a girl out here."

"Why?"

"I do not know,  _fratello,_ I ask that question every day. _"_  Ezio suddenly seems really exhausted, and Petruccio wonders if getting the feathers was harder than Ezio said it was.

"That sounds sort of confusing," Petruccio admits out loud.

That draws a short laugh from Ezio. "Sometimes yes. That's why I work to make the outside match as well."

Understanding fills Petruccio as he finally makes the connection. "Is that why all the neighbors think you're a boy?"

"Yes. So we're going to keep it a secret between us, understand? No one outside of the family knows."

"Alright." Petruccio agrees easily, but there is something that doesn't sit well in his stomach. Maybe some of his discomfort shows because Ezio's gaze is suddenly intent on him. He wants to tell her that he's feeling alright, and that he doesn't feel a fit coming on, and he isn't going to throw up so there's no reason to worry, but before he can, Ezio is speaking.

"Petruccio, does it bother you? I understand that it's hard to take in." Ezio is speaking really fast now, and her hands are shaking, like they do sometimes when Ezio sees someone who made Claudia cry. These tremors seem different, and he doesn't know why, so he shrugs.

"Oh, I'm still a little confused, but I really want to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to call you  _fratello_ or  _sorella_?"

The next thing Petruccio knows, he's being crushed into Ezio's chest, and she's still trembling but these seem different than the ones his sister gets when she sees someone who made Claudia cry, and the ones she had only moments ago.

"Ezio?" Petruccio asks, bemused.

" _Fratello_ , Petruccio. Nothing would make me happier than to be your brother." Ezio's voice is thick with something Petruccio doesn't fully comprehend, but that's okay because he probably will when he's older.

"Alright then." Petruccio smiles. " _Fratello_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff to finish off the prologue. :)


	6. Mio Amico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo has insight.

Leonardo's workshop is a chaotic but cozy place. He's not messy, per se, but he does use all of his space. Each table is covered with art tools or scattered papers. He's heard from others that they wonder how he doesn't lose anything, but it's a ridiculous thought to him. He placed it there, why wouldn't he remember where it was?

Normally his work moves in shifts— papers move away, bound or tucked into a journal, and by that point there is already something to fill the gap left on the table correlating with his continual shifting interests. Though he lacks space, it is unusual for Leonardo to throw things to the floor. That's reserved for moments where something incredibly exciting happens. Today is such a day. He didn't expect to see the son of his dead associate on his doorstep today, but since arriving, Ezio has spun Leonardo's world upside-down. First with his news about his sister and mother and the conspiracy against their family, then with his new resolve, and finally the fascinating codex page and ancient device. All of it is enough to have Leonardo brush some of his work to the floor. Anything he can do to help Ezio now he's more than willing to attempt.

Beyond that though, what he's working on is fascinating. Leonardo glances over at Ezio, wondering if he's aware of the ingenuity of the device he gave the artist, but all he finds is the softly sleeping teenager curled up in one of his sofa chairs. Ezio's face is cradled in one hand, the other leaning against the side of the chair, and Leonardo takes this silent moment to watch a while.

Ezio is a rather beautiful man. Leonardo knew that the moment he met Maria Auditore's child. There is something in the proportions of Ezio's face, something incredibly unique and charismatic, and it doesn't quit, even when the boy is asleep. It makes Leonardo's hands itch for a pencil and sketchpad.

The artist takes a deep breath and then exhales. There isn't time for his intellectual pursuits, despite how much he wants to ask Ezio to model for him. That can wait until later.

Leonardo quickly resumes his tinkering. There is something so incredibly satisfying about hearing that last gear click into place of the arm brace, just like finishing the last few details of a painting, and it makes Leonardo grin— even despite the circumstances. He rushes to Ezio.

"There, it's done!"

Ezio jolts awake. "What? What's done?"

The artist shoves the finished product under the teenager's nose. "I decrypted the page you gave me and found the schematics. After that it was an easy fix." Leonardo grins as he sees Ezio stand and reach towards the bracer.

Leonardo pulls it away right before his friend can grab it. He's sure Ezio could do with a laugh as much as Leonardo could. Pulling out the butcher knife he uses when cutting up cadavers, Leonardo grips it idly in his hand and makes light eye-contact with Ezio.

"Now all that's left is to remove your ring finger."

He turns pale. "Why?"

This is going better than Leonardo thought it would. Ezio is incredibly gullible, it seems.

"The hidden blade is designed to ensure the commitment of the user, so I'm sorry Ezio, but your finger will have to go."

"Not like I'll use it for anything else," Ezio mutters, making Leonardo frown.

After a moment, Ezio nods. "Bene, but do it quickly." He shoves his hand out and clenches his eyes shut. Leonardo raises the cleaver dramatically as he takes in the unwilling posture of his friend and the false bravado. The artist almost laughs as he sees Ezio's hand trembling— Ezio's rather small hand.

He slams the cleaver into the wood beside Ezio's hand and takes possession of the still lightly shaking appendage. It's incredible, and impossible, because he knows that he sees that the index finger is longer than the fourth finger. It's generally a feminine trait. It isn't impossible for a male to have it, but that's when Leonardo takes in Ezio face, the high cheekbones and the rest of his body structure. The robes he wears that are too large, and he's had to use every strap to make it fit somewhat decently. Considering his young age it makes sense, but the places it should fit it still doesn't. All at once it becomes clear.

Ezio finally cracks an eye.

"What is it?" he (or perhaps now it's she), asks worriedly. "Get it over with!"

"I adapted the brace to work without cutting off your finger," he says distantly as he flips her palm over.

"That was not funny, Leonardo," she growls.

"Ezio, you are a woman?"

She stiffens immediately and pulls her hand away from him.

"Not exactly." Ezio crosses her arms and looks to the side.

"I thought that your jawline was a little weak when we first met," Leonardo murmurs, thinking over all of the little signs he dismissed as peculiarities— now he knows better.

Ezio meets his eyes and grits her teeth. "I'm not a girl."

Leonardo blinks, his brows drawing together. "Ezio, I—“

"I know I look like a girl, but in here—" she taps her chest, "In here I'm a boy."

He stares at her for a long moment, taking in the fear he sees in her eyes and the firmness of her stance.

"How fascinating!" Leonardo proclaims.

"W—what?" she stutters.

Leonardo can't believe what he's stumbled over. "Tell me, how is it that you perceive being a boy? Is it the behavior that fits better or just the clothes? When you dream, how do you envision yourself?"

"I don't get what you mean, and all of it? I don't know, just me I guess, but look, Leonardo—"

"I wonder if there is a biological aspect. You really must tell me when it was you discovered this about yourself."

"Leonardo, later," she says. "I will answer all of your questions later. Right now I have an appointment with a traitor."

All at once the bubbling excitement fades from his mind and the artist nods solemnly.

"Of course." He picks up the bracer that was forgotten in his sudden realization and gestures for her to hold her arm out. She does so, and he shows her how to take it off and on a few times. The dagger flashes out once, much to both of their surprises. After that Ezio spends a while figuring exactly how to trigger the spring. It's a delicate machine that requires great skill to assemble, and even greater skill to use, Leonardo thinks. The most minute of movements could spring it. Ezio understands it more and more as she works out the various methods she can use, and Leonardo watches passively all the while, adding in a word or two when he thinks it might help. By the time the sun is cresting over the city, she's ready.

"Stay safe, mio amico," Leonardo says as he opens the door to the early Italian morning.

"Of course," Ezio says. "After all, I promised you a conversation, didn't I?"

Leonardo dearly hopes to hear it one day when all of this business is over.


	7. Lo Sono Quello Che Sono

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio is what he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Chaly dearest for betaing!

Ezio stands over the body of the dead traitor, heart beating rapidly. Her brash exclamation and the blood on her hands make it hard to catch her breath, but Ezio knows that she needs to escape. A nearby bird perch catches her eye and she darts forward, up the small stone side of the building and onto the perch. She teeters there on the precipice, staring at the hay cart below her, feeling more lost, pained, and unrestricted than she has in her entire life. After doing this, Ezio, the daughter of the banker has died. There is no going back.

She inhales deeply and clenches her thighs before pushing up and off the wooden bird perch. After a flip in the air, Ezio lands in the hay with a soft thump.

A few minutes pass before he emerges, feeling better than he has felt all week. A light fills his eyes, and it’s still pained, still a shadow of itself, but it’s momentarily untainted by the dark sparks of vengeance, as he hears the guards shouting above him and he rolls out of the hay and dashes up onto the rooftops and through the town.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze slips through the streets of his childhood and away from the guards’ sight.

He is new again, and he remembers the words he found in his father’s old wooden chest. In that moment he thinks maybe he understands.

_“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.”_


	8. Mia Sorella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia doesn't think she'll ever understand her sister.

“Is it done?” Paola is the one who finally asks the question as Ezio enters _La Rosa Colta._

“It is done.”

The rush of relief, or satisfaction, or _something_ that Claudia expected to feel does not appear. Instead all she finds is the distant realization that her sister has now murdered someone and their silent mother still hasn’t spoken.

“What will you do now?” Annetta asks Ezio.

“We will head to Monteriggioni. We have an uncle out there who will be willing to take us in.”

Ezio’s reply is enough to shake Claudia from her stunned state.

“What?!” No discussion, she never even asked for Claudia’s opinion— her sister didn’t even look at her when she spoke! Ezio’s words are the frosting on an extremely bitter cake.

“They will be searching for us all through town. We must leave _now,_ Claudia. Get Mother ready.” With those parting words, Ezio sweeps towards Paola and begins talking in low tones that Claudia cannot hear.

The younger sister is not remotely accepting of all this, and she will have her say later, but her sister is right about the guards and they must leave the city. . . At least for a little while.

+

Ezio leads them through the winding dirt roads towards Monterrigioni with an urgent pace and minimal responses to all of her Claudia’s questions. Eventually, the younger sister finally stops.

“Claudia,” Ezio utters, irritation seeping into her tone as she also stops. Her older sibling seems to automatically know what Claudia is going to fight against, and that fact pisses her off. Ezio _knows_ she doesn’t want to go, and she’s still trying to make them leave anyway.

“We need to go to Monteriggioni,” Ezio says.

“I’m not going there!” Claudia shouts.

“We are leaving!”

“You aren’t the man of the house, Ezio! You can’t make me!”

“But I am the eldest!” Ezio screeches back. It’s rare for her sister’s voice to go so high, but Claudia can perhaps understand, because a week ago, Ezio wasn’t the eldest.

“I am the eldest, and we will do as I say.” Ezio’s voice is suddenly hard to decipher, emotions tucked away.

Claudia bites her tongue.

“We are going to Monteriggioni.”

+

Since arriving at Monteriggioni, Claudia’s life has been an endless chain of decisions made without her consent. Her sister and Mario bicker back and forth about where _Ezio_ will take them. Like Ezio is suddenly the head of their family. She shouldn’t be. Well, she shouldn’t be without at least taking Claudia’s opinion into account. All Claudia’s pleas to return to Firenze are rebuffed by Ezio before she can even finish her sentence. Mario completely agrees, and in the face of Ezio and Mario ganging up on her, she finds it hard to argue. If only _Madre_ would wake, then things would be different—

Mario’s outlook is severely skewed in Claudia’s opinion. He has this daft idea in his head that Ezio will join him in a fight against what she understands is a veritable spider web of conspiracies and political corruption. Claudia wishes her sister had more sense than to listen to Mario’s stories, but it appears she does not. Ezio seems to believe him, and more than that, when Mario vanishes to Firenze to finish Vieri de Pazzi, Ezio goes after him. There’s blood on the edges of her sister’s sleeves when she returns, and a look of both ambivalence and determination rest in her eyes. Claudia immediately knows that they will not be going to Spain like Ezio originally proposed.

While Claudia doesn’t approve of Ezio throwing herself into her work, she can perhaps understand. Although she was initially reluctant to take on the financial banking, when Claudia does the ledger and rearranges their investments, reality leaves her alone. Bit by bit she understands the nuances of the business, and every now and then, she thinks she might feel her father standing behind her, coaching her gently when she forgets a detail about banking. Work is the best thing for her. If she didn’t plow through the books, she would be upstairs all day with their mother— and she can’t do it anymore. She still spends three or four hours sitting and talking to her mother, (talking _at_ her mother,) but the sudden job of banking is a wonderful excuse to get away from the painfully silent room. She feels guilty, because her mother is in such a state— but doing something feels good. Over the two years they stay while Ezio trains, she’s able to see some of her hard work pay off as she repairs the brothel and armory and the people of the town walk through the streets a little happier and the villa’s pitiful income doubles. What really giver her satisfaction is knowing that she can do so much more.

It’s Ezio that works the hardest though, physically and emotionally. Physical in how their uncle slams her into the ground trying to teach her how to duck a tackle, and emotional in the things he says while teaching her—

“ _If you want to pretend to be a man you need to take a punch like one!”_

Even Claudia, who has no fondness for Ezio’s phase, knows better than to say anything in such a callous, dismissive way.

At first, the hurt in her sister’s eyes was clear to see, painfully obvious. But as time stretched on, she stopped reacting, stopped letting her eyes show her emotions so clearly, and stopped having Mario thrash her so thoroughly. Claudia . . . doesn’t like it. But she comprehends why. Ezio is in a different kind of business than Claudia, one that deals in the trading of lives. It still makes Claudia pause every now and then as she realizes her father was doing both the entire time. Claudia wishes her sister didn’t have to do such work, but she doesn’t think that Ezio will rest until she can decisively say their father, Petruccio, and Federico have finally been avenged.

There isn’t really anything she can do to change Ezio’s mind, she soon realizes, and Claudia feels a cloak of weariness settle around her, making her feel much older than her seventeen years.

She now stands in the entry hall with Mario and Ezio. The two are talking, leaving her as an audience member. Ezio is going on another solo assassination, which should only take about two months, but Claudia knows how this will go, how Ezio will catch another lead and chase it into Forli, or Venezia, and the next time Claudia will see Ezio will likely be when she’s twenty. Claudia wonders if she’ll still be able to make out something from her sister’s eyes when she returns.

Claudia looks at her sister, noting the changes. Ezio’s body has filled out considerably. Her sister never grew buff despite the months of excruciating training, but gained lean, hard muscle that Claudia only sees when they bathe in the public bathhouse in the dead of night where they can be alone. Those moments Claudia enjoys most, because they talk about nothing, and it’s the only time she ever sees Ezio as she truly is— no bindings or leggings. Although these days it’s robes she wears.

When Ezio pulls her white hood up, the only thing visible to the world is the hint of dark brown bangs that shift into view every now and then. Her sibling’s eyes have always been dark— bedroom eyes, Federico once joked to Claudia. Hidden under the shadow of white cloth, they look more threatening and mysterious. There’s still that odd sensuality that has followed her sister around all her life, but the steel in her gaze tempers it considerably. Claudia imagines that many of the females her sister will inevitably come across will find it sultry and intriguing— much to Ezio’s delight, she figures. Her interest in the same sex doesn’t upset Claudia as the sheer denial of the truth does.

Claudia wants an older sister. Well, she _has_ an older sister, but not in any way she can claim. She’s seen the relationships the other girls in Firenze had with their big sisters, and Claudia wants to feel the same sensation badly. Ezio refuses though. Refuses to go dress shopping, refuses to talk about who’s the most attractive in town (even when Claudia offers to add women to their scouting), and refuses to accept the title of sister. Sometimes Claudia just wants to wrestle her sister to the ground and throw a corset on her and make her go shopping, and gossiping, and call Ezio her older sister—But to the outside world, Claudia is the only daughter in the Auditore family, and Ezio is a man.

Claudia doesn’t get it. She hates— _hated_ how readily Federico went along with it, but of course he would. She would wager he wanted a little brother as much as she wanted an older sister. If only Ezio would stop being so stubborn and just _accept_ who she is and stop playing all these games. But it appears that it is possibly too late. Because the world Ezio has stepped into is no place for a woman, Claudia thinks. Her sister is safer pretending to be a man. Claudia just wishes there was something she could do to prove Ezio hasn’t lost her womanhood. She pauses in her thoughts.

Ezio’s chocolate colored hair is cut a little shorter than normal, held back with a dark brown hair tie. She suddenly dashes upstairs towards her bureau, digging through the limited amount of pretty things she allowed herself to purchase after an especially trying day. Finding what she was looking for, she runs back downstairs, hoping her sister hasn’t left yet.

She’s relieved and exasperated to see them both standing in exactly the same place. Claudia would wager they didn’t even realize she left.

When Ezio gives a nod and steps away, Claudia knows she must act fast.

 “ _Sorella_ ,” Claudia calls. Ezio frowns, but comes towards her.

“ _Si?_ ”

“Turn around,” Claudia demands.

“Why?”

“I’m going to put a ribbon in your hair.”

“Claudia.” An exasperated growl comes from Ezio.

“Shut up and do this for me,” Claudia replies sharply.

Maybe she senses the seriousness of her sister’s tone, because Ezio reluctantly obeys.

Pulling the thin red ribbon that she was planning to make a thin choker or bracelet out of, Claudia carefully wraps it around her sister’s thick hair. The moment is inexplicably honeyed for some reason, until Claudia realizes that the last time she touched and played with Ezio’s hair she had been nine.

She takes her time, though Ezio fidgets and Mario crosses his arms.

“Don’t forget who you are, Ezio,” Claudia says, and feels her sister still beneath her fingers. She wishes that Ezio could accept such words without tensing her muscles, and without clicking her teeth shut suddenly. But this world isn’t that one, so Claudia must make compromises.

“You are an Auditore.” She releases the neat bow and her sister turns around with a wide smile.

“I will never forget, Claudia.”

Maybe one day things could be different, but for the moment, Claudia will try being what her sister needs; a sibling. Like Federico had been before he—

Since he was gone, Claudia would have to be that source of comfort and assurance, despite her personal feelings.

Although she may never find a sister in Ezio, so long as she could see _something_ in her sister’s eyes when she returns from her assassinations, Claudia figures her sibling will never truly be lost from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit had to do with Ezio's little red ribbon in canon. I love symmetry. :) Anyways, more thanks for Chalybeous, wonderful, wonderful Beta~


	9. Mio Sesso Amico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paola finds an interesting customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for Chalybeous~

Paola blows out the lanterns that hang on either side of _La Rosa Colta_. She’s closing the door at twelve tonight, as she always does on Saturday to prepare for Sunday. No one comes to a brother on the Lord’s Day, so soon after church, and Paola and her girls use the time to recuperate and unwind. After finishing with the lamps, Paola moves back inside and almost trips over her sister who’s standing right beside the threshold.

“Sister,” Annetta says intently.

 “ _Si?_ ”

“There is a matter I’d like to discuss with you.” Annetta’s eyes flicker towards Ezio, who sits on one of the velvet couches chatting with several of Paola’s girls. She then glances meaningfully at the stairs. Wordlessly the Paola follows her sister towards the foot of the stairs.

“So, what is it you’d like to discuss?”

“It’s to do with Ezio,” Annetta says, and Paola could have told her that. Things these days seem to rotate around the new stranger who tripped gracelessly into their lives.

“What has he done?”

“It’s nothing like that, I’m just a little concerned.”

Paola is struck once more by how attached her sister has gotten over the years to the family she served.

“Do not worry, he’s a strong man. He will be fine.”

Annetta winces slightly.

“It isn’t Ezio’s physical health I’m worried about.”

“Then what is?”

“Ezio needs to get back the confidence h-helost.” Annetta’s stutter does not go unnoticed and Paola narrows her eyes.

“I offered him one of the girls the first night,” Paola says, “He declined. I can’t do anything for the unwilling. I’ve offered several times since then and he always pulls up an excuse. I’m starting to think he might be a homosexual,” Paola shakes her head and catches her wide-eyed sister’s look.

“Is that it?” Paola presses, “He’s a homosexual then? Well I’m afraid I won’t be of any help. Homosexual men are in short supply around here. I didn’t peg him the type, but perhaps I can see it now that I look a little closer.”

Annetta coughs a few times before replying. “Ezio is not a homosexual. Not the way you’re thinking.”

“What is it then?” Paola is sick of the guessing game.

“Well,” Annetta begins, “Ezio is not like most people.”

Paola snorts. She’s only known him for a couple weeks, but doesn’t she know it’s the truth.

“Ezio is actually a girl.”

Paola’s eyes widen.

“A girl?”

“Maybe a woman now, I suppose,” Annetta corrects.

Paola’s eyes fly to the red couch where the subject of their discussion is sitting, looking for a sign of truth to her sister’s words, but she still just sees Ezio there, all male.

“And you are certain of this?” Paola asks.

“I was Ezio’s wet nurse,” Annetta answers dryly. “I know she’s a girl.”

“Then he— _she,”_ Paola corrects herself, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea. “She’s hiding her gender to protect her identity?”

“Not really. Ezio . . . well, she once said to me that God put her in the wrong body.”

Paola resists the urge to make the sign of the cross. “Truly?”

Annetta shrugs. “She’s said all her life that she was a boy, no, man. She acts like one, dresses like one, fights like one. She seems like a man to me in her personality at least.”

Paola doesn’t know what to make of it. Ezio, the man she was introduced to seemed to embody virility in his(?) body-language, in her(?) wandering eyes and roguish smiles, and in Ezio’s speech. His appearance too, masculine. His face is a tad too pretty, to be sure, but not out of the realm of possibility for a man. When grouped with the rest of his strong body, it doesn’t stand out. According to her sister though, beneath the assassin’s robes, she would find a woman. . .  funnily enough, it’s the woman part of it all that doesn’t seem to fit the Ezio she knows.

If she does accept that Ezio believes herself to be a man, then his hesitation in finding pleasure for a night becomes clear. It’s hard to contemplate because Ezio has an oddly sensual air about her, heavy, sultry, and yet it seems it would not be impossible for Ezio to never have lain with anyone.

“Is she a virgin?”

“She had a lover,” Annetta says before her eyes dart to the woman in question, “But Ezio will likely never see her again.”

The use of pronoun does not go over Paola’s head, and she turns back to the red couch where Ezio is flirting (quite successfully) with the girls. One tries to pull her hand suggestively glancing towards the upper level where the rooms are. Ezio seems to not understand the implication because she instead shoots out one of her hidden blades, much to the delight of the women. Paola is beginning to think Ezio understands more than she lets on.

Ezio’s rejection of her offer suddenly makes sense. Catching her sister’s eye, she knows now what must be done.

“Ezio,” Paola calls. The assassin rises, and soothes the mild whining of the girls with a wink. As she stands before Ezio, Paola finds that it’s incredibly hard to see through her expression. She hoped that there would be a sudden spark where she realizes that Ezio is a woman, but instead all she finds is mild confusion in her mind.

Ezio runs a hand over the harness of his hidden blade, readjusting it in what Paola now knows is a nervous tic. The young assassin hides it so well . . .

“How can I help you, _signora?_ ”

“Come with me for a moment, will you?” Paola requests.

“Of course.”

Paola leads Ezio up the stairs and down one of the halls until they are before one of the spare rooms. She gestures Ezio inside and after taking two steps in Ezio immediately halts.

She turns towards Paola, “I’m sorry, _madonna,_ but I—“

Paola pushes Ezio backwards until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she sits down. Her eyes trace Paola’s figure almost apprehensively.

Paola sits on Ezio’s lap before planting a few kisses on the other woman’s neck. The distinct lack of an Adam’s apple is so obvious now that she can’t believe she missed it. Her ministrations earn her a soft gasp and she moves her hand upwards to cup Ezio’s face and Ezio is the one to bridge the gap, pressing their lips together firmly and heatedly. Ezio kisses like a man, and Paola vaguely wonders how that could be until her sister’s words cycle back.

Paola withdraws, and Ezio follows after her grinning now. It disappears when Paola places a hand on Ezio’s chest. The teenager stills, body tense, and Paola can feel the faint curve of breasts and Ezio’s rapid heartbeat.

Paola knows what to expect, so when Ezio’s moves to stand, murmuring an excuse, she presses herself firmly against the younger woman. Adept fingers swiftly push Ezio’s cloak and vest out of the way, skimming through the fabric like water. At the point where there are only two layers left on Ezio, the assassin catches her hand.

“Paola— what are you doing?”

“We all need somewhere to relax. Let this place become a haven for you, Ezio.”

Ezio’s eyes widen and Paola takes advantage of the moment by undoing Ezio’s last shirt and the vest. Her fingers catch on the complex web of bandages that wrap around and around and around and around and around Ezio’s chest. Paola hesitates. She’s surprised when Ezio slowly reaches over one shoulder and unties a knot neither of them can see with practiced ease. The bandages come off and Paola sees all of Ezio at once. All she wants to do is stare, but can’t afford too.

The mistress doesn’t miss a beat. Paola leans back a little and starts undoing the complex lace that binds her own body. Ezio’s hands reach out to help, eager but gentle.

They are both naked now, and Ezio is examining Paola’s body with obvious interest. Ezio’s eyes never seem to make it to Paola’s face and so the mistress grabs the teenager’s chin. Ezio looks up at her, and suddenly it becomes clear how nervous the younger woman is. Paola pins Ezio with her most smoldering look.

“Are you sure?” Ezio manages, swallowing. Paola is almost offended by the question. As if anyone could make her do anything. But she thinks maybe she understands a little now so all she says is,

“Yes.”

Ezio looks at her blankly for a few moments longer before moving forward and flipping their positions so that Paola is lying on her back, staring into Ezio’s intense eyes. She aggressively claims Paola’s mouth before moving lower towards her generously sized breasts. Ezio is everything she imaged her to be— passionate, and a generous lover, and full of masculinity that pervades her every action. And Paola feels it all at once and finds herself believing she is a man, despite the brushing of breasts against breasts.

She can’t explain it, but at the same time, she thinks that neither can Ezio. She’s such a complex person . . .

Paola’s thoughts are suddenly cut off. Ezio has reached the lower section of Paola’s body and the mistress finds she can’t bring herself to ponder the matter any further. Ezio is Ezio, she figures, before turning the tables on the younger woman, flipping her on her back and giving the teen a taste of what lying with a truly experienced woman feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel Ezio is too sensual a creature to ignore this. He's a womanizer to the core~


	10. Mio Nuovo Amico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa gets to know her new acquaintance.

“Why do you dress like a man?”

The words are spoken over the red terra cotta tiles of the thief’s headquarters. Ezio and Rosa are sitting side by side, and Rosa knows the situation is perfect for conversation. Which is good because she wants to know about Ezio and his life: why is he in Venice, why does he wear those strange robes, and why is he so intent on killing the Doge. But he gets the jump on her first, before she can ask anything about his strange life as an assassin. His question thoroughly ruffles her feathers, though she knows she should have probably expected it. It’s a little disappointing because she thought Ezio might’ve been above it for some inexplicable reason, but still, she should have seen it coming.

“What business of it is yours?”

Ezio pauses for a moment before saying, “I just want to understand.” The words are stilted, and this has to be the most awkward she’s ever seen the smooth confident man. Which is good. Because he really has no right to be asking about something like this.

His reply isn’t as misogynistic as she’s used to though, so she feels compelled to say something in reply.

“Why not?”

“Do you feel like a man?”

And that’s it.

“I can be a woman and wear men’s clothes! You guys will never get what it means to be a woman; it’s not about the clothes you wear. I’m a woman because I _am_ one! Men will never understand!”

And she doesn’t mean to snap at him, she really doesn’t. He seems like an interesting, kind man, but apparently she doesn’t need to worry.

Ezio’s expression is surprised before a bright smile spreads over his face. “You’re right. We never will.”

Rosa doesn’t get why he’s smiling so much, but really there are so much about this man she doesn’t get that it doesn’t bother her unduly. Maybe one day she’ll uncover all his secrets. Until then, Rosa will wait. She can’t help but smile a little at his reply. Whether he’s misogynistic or not has yet to be seen, but either way he promises to be an interesting conversationalist.

“Tell me, where did you get that blade?”

 


	11. Qualsiasi Altro Mondo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the chamber below the Vatican, Ezio encounters someone unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qualsiasi Altro Mondo = In Any Other World.
> 
> Thanks for Chalybeous' excellent beta'ing~

The chamber glows with unnatural green lights that emanates from a source Ezio cannot see. The dim green glow mutedly reflects off the black stone, looking dull next to the ethereal floating figure in the center. Though she’s just shaken his world, and broken his scope of belief, the woman (or whatever she is) isn’t even looking at him. Instead her gaze is centered somewhere off to the side. Ezio follows her gaze and sees another conglomeration of glowing light, yellow, gentler than the harsh green, and Ezio’s eyes turn towards it. He blanches immediately at what he sees.

Because it’s him.

But no, as he looks closer he finds differences in the features, lighter skin tone, different eye-shape, slightly, and maybe even the eye-color is off.

Maybe not, maybe someone who only looks like him.

But his near-identical twin is clearly, painfully, male. Broad shoulders, flat chest, narrow hips— all the things Ezio has tried to emulate his entire life. He knows this is the life he leads, and he’s coped, and he finds moments of happiness throughout his life through effort and determination alone. But looking at what could have been, he wonders, in any other world where he’d been born in the right body, would he—

Ezio shakes his head, because he can’t bring himself to think about what will never be. Instead, he tears his attention away from his look-alike and back to the woman in the center who speaks of things and people he’s never heard of and will likely never understand.

He wonders if this _Dezmond_ will understand.


	12. Mia Nipote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario doesn't understand why Ezio cross-dresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to note that the views expressed do not represent my own, in case there is some confusion on that . . .  
> Thanks again Chalybeous!

Mario guides his family towards the villa determinedly. He can tell that their bodies and souls are weary, and understands with painful clarity. He’s glad the maids keep the guest rooms clean and manageable. It’s one less thing for the assassin to worry about. The implications of harboring his family makes his head spin. The Pazzi will no doubt return. His forces aren’t at their best at the moment, and the battle might end up being a close one. Mario is careful to keep those dark thoughts away from his expression, maintaining a wide, calm smile.

He does need to figure out what to do with them though. Mario has a hint from his niece’s robes. Giovanni would never have trained her as an assassin, but it isn’t too late for her to learn. With Maria as comatose as she is, and Claudia still distraught at their family’s deaths and having to leave their life behind them, it’s clear to Mario Ezio is the only one he can talk to about their future. So he guides her to his study instead, while waving her sister and mother off to the guest rooms.

Ezio and he do not see eye-to-eye on a great deal of issues they now face, but his niece at least agrees to train, which Mario expected to fight her on. Women generally did not learn battle tactics, but from the stains still on her assassin’s robes, Mario figures maybe she sees things differently. Mario’s willing to take what he can get, so with a promise to start training in the morning, he dismisses his niece.

Ezio hovers in the doorway though, hesitant, uncertain about something.

“Are you okay with _this?”_ she asks, gesturing to her robes and leggings. Mario is more than willing to put his niece’s worries to rest and walks over and claps his hand on her shoulder.

“Really, you aren’t the first cross-dresser in the family, _mia nipote.”_ He lets out a long laugh and directs his niece through the doors of his study. The shoulder beneath his hand is tense, uncomfortable, and Mario emphasizes. His poor niece’s life has taken a turn for the worst.

“Come then, let me show you where your room is.”

+

Mario admits that maybe he’s never quite understood his oldest niece. Perhaps it has something to do with women. Mario will admit that females have always escaped him. Claudia is certainly a beast of her own making. She’s fantastic at the numbers, arranging the better part of Mario’s papers. Although he doesn’t get the outright chastising anymore, he still hears her murmuring under her breath when she finds another page of notes with vague, estimated figures drawn up all around the margins.

Claudia’s temperament and mood has improved greatly since Maria woke though, and Mario welcomes the reprieve. The matriarch of the family regained herself with style, not reemerging crying and screaming, but cool and collected as she ever was previous to the whole mess. Mario suspects it has something to do with the ridiculous number of feathers Ezio has gathered over the years. Whatever that’s about he still doesn’t fully understand, but he’s glad to have another person from his generation here to manage the two younger Auditores. Especially Ezio.

His oldest niece manages to be more puzzling to Mario despite how she doesn’t rage and shriek like Claudia occasionally does. Though initially hot tempered and quick to argue, Ezio has mellowed out considerably over the years. She never gets as elegant and cool as her mother, but gets much closer than Claudia. It’s a great help, considering their work. To be honest, training his niece in their profession was never something he thought he’d do. Federico wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, assuming Giovanni came around and stopped being so stubborn about the family business—

Well, it doesn’t matter much these days. He has a very willing student in Ezio, so he’s forced to change his opinion about teaching women the delicate art of assassination. Ezio handles the training with surprising ease, never complaining to Mario that he’s being too tough, or that Ezio needs more breaks. His niece sucks it up and takes it like a man. It relieves him considerably that he doesn’t have to baby Ezio like he feared he would have to.

Maybe that’s part of what confuses Mario so much about his niece. Because Ezio willingly wears her hands into callouses learning swordplay, easily accepts Mario’s firm command that she no longer wear dresses, and upon receiving a new scar, only jokes with the other men how she’ll soon have more than all of them. Didn’t women want their hands to be soft? Claudia certainly seems to value it still (if her protests about doing any kind of manual labor is a sign), even though her prospects at the moment are a little dim. When Mario spoke to Maria, guilty about how he had Ezio live and dress as a man for so many years, there is an odd expression on her face, almost like she’s resisting a smile. But Mario knows it’s ridiculous. He considers the peculiarity again with the scars. Ezio will always smile and say how much women like scars. It just doesn’t make sense to Mario.

The revelation of his oldest niece’s, er, _preferences_ for the same sex still unsettles the Auditore man. He’s heard of men preferring other men, but outside of the stories of what women in the brothels do for a few dozen florins, he’s never heard of a woman who likes other women. In general, Ezio behaves a bit too much like a man for Mario to feel completely at ease with her. He honestly doesn’t mind the cross-dressing. He actually thinks it’s a rather brilliant idea when he considers her new occupation. But it’s when they’re all alone, he, Maria, Claudia, and Ezio, sitting for dinner or coming together in the living room in between jobs to catch up a little, that Ezio’s manly behavior unsettles him.

Ezio sits the same in the dining room as she does anywhere else, legs wide, immodest, and Maria does nothing to correct her daughter’s sitting at all. Claudia doesn’t blink when Ezio makes innuendos to some woman she evidently spent _time_ with on her adventure, she just rolls her eyes. And Mario doesn’t get it. Is he the only one who sees what’s wrong with the picture? When he thinks about it, he supposes that Ezio has just grown into the habit of behaving like a man. Guilt pursues Mario in the early hours of the night when he can’t sleep, because he’s ruining his niece’s life. How could she ever expect to settle down, so entangled in the role of a man? And Mario is too late to stop it. Maybe both Maria and Claudia realized this sooner, so that’s why they accept it. Either way, he doesn’t want to damn Ezio to this life forever, so he knows something must change.

“Ezio, from now on, I want you to wear dresses in the villa,” Mario announces one evening when they’re all gathered on the couches. Claudia coughs on the wine she was drinking, Maria’s face hardens, and Ezio turns white as a sheet.

“ _Zio,_ what? _Perché?_ ”

“I fear you are getting too much in the habit of behaving like a man. How do you expect to find someone and settle down after this is all over if you behave like this?” Mario decides to ignore Ezio’s apparent sexual preferences for the moment.

“I _am_ a man.”

Mario’s brow furrows. “ _Mia Nipote_ , really now, you know I know better.”

“No, _Zio,_ I mean it.” His niece is suddenly incredibly earnest. “I’m a man.”

Mario sighs. “I know I’ve brought this on myself by not allowing you to wear dresses and treating you like a man, but I’m going to try and fix that from now on.”

“There’s nothing to fix! This is how it should be, Uncle! I haven’t worn a dress in years now.”

The Auditore man turns to his sister-in-law. “I didn’t know you encouraged her cross-dressing to such an extent, but nonetheless, it needs to stop now, Ezio. Inside this villa, you will behave like a woman.”

“Do not make assumptions that you have control of my children,” Maria says icily, in the show of the coolness he’s always associated with her. His guilt won’t let him step down though.

“This has to stop, Maria. Maybe not now, but eventually,” he warns.

“Uncle, please, believe me,” Ezio beseeches, still pale, and Mario thinks perhaps afraid.

His niece fears change, something everyone faces now and then so Mario will not lie to her.

“You’ll understand one day, Ezio.” Mario shakes his head and leaves the living room and retreats to his study before sitting heavily in his desk chair.

Maria’s stubbornness only aggravates the problem. He’ll wager she’s comforting her daughter at this very moment. She’s in denial, and later on, Maria will regret not trying to set Ezio right.

He senses someone approach before he hears the knocking on the door.

“Uncle?”

And it’s Claudia, thankfully, because he doesn’t much feel like facing Ezio or Maria at the moment. He immediately calls her in and she walks to the front of the desk.

“ _Mia Nipote,_ what can I do?”

“I . . .” Claudia is unusually hesitant. “I’ve never gotten why Ezio behaves the way she does.”

Mario is relieved to find he isn’t the only one that struggles to understand.

“But I do know that you shouldn’t push her, Uncle,” Claudia warns. “She’s sensitive about it. You have to let her sort it out herself. Push her too much and she’ll just pull away.”

Mario grunts, suddenly liking this visit a lot less, though he acknowledges the wisdom in his youngest niece’s words.

“I just hope it isn’t too late,” Mario says. “She’s getting older, and despite the money you’ve been bringing in, her prospects aren’t good.”

“You do know she likes women, right, _Zio?”_ Claudia asks dryly.

“Yes, but she will likely come around.”

Claudia laughs lightly. “I know that Ezio’s love of women isn’t going to change anytime soon. It’s just the way she’s always been.”

After saying that, Claudia pauses, looking incredibly introspective all of a sudden and Mario fears he’s lost another one to Ezio’s madness.

+

Mario holds the apple in his hands, relishing the tangible proof of decades of work. Ezio is a miracle worker, that’s the only way Mario can explain it. He’s relaxing on his bed, feeling more at peace than he has in years. If Ezio wasn’t likely doing something with Caterina Sforza a floor up, the relaxation would be complete, but Mario does his best to avoid thinking things like that as often as he can. His niece still Marches to her own drumbeat. Mario frowns as he remembers their last conversation.

+

“ _Zio!”_ Proud, victorious, and relieved is how Ezio sounds to him, and Mario can’t help but turn around and smile at his niece from his place on his horse. She’s still glowing from her victory over the Borgia, almost disbelieving still. Mario is more than happy to confirm the truth over and over to her. Because they have well and truly won.

As they reach the entrance to Monteriggioni, Mario heads to the stables and dismounts from his chestnut steed. Ezio’s black mare appears in front of the trough moments after.

“Remember this day, _Mia Nipote,”_ Mario says as they take the time to tie up the horses and remove the bridles.

“I will never forget.” Ezio grins before her expression slips into something more pensive. “I still can’t believe it’s all over.”

“I never thought the day would come,” Mario admits before slinging an arm over his niece’s shoulders. “But with two Auditores maybe I should’ve known better, eh, Ezio?”

Her smile widens in response, and Mario is hesitant to ruin the moment, but he wants to catch her in her thoughtful and open mood before they both get swallowed by parties and congratulations. He hardens his own resolve. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but it must be done.

“ _Mia Nipote,”_ Mario begins. “Do you not think it may be time for you to put the blade away?”

Ezio appears not to get the whole implication because she slightly shakes her head and says, “Not permanently, but a break might be nice.”

“And during this break, will you consider behaving like a woman?”

Ezio stiffens, and Mario catches the flash of pain in her eyes before she can conceal it. “No, I will not.”

“Ezio!” Mario growls. He’s just about done with his niece’s stubbornness.

“I will tell you over and over, I am a man!” She snaps before turning away and walking through the gates to the city.

Mario grits his teeth and lets it go for now. This isn’t the end of it.

+

Mario groans, wondering what he did to earn himself such a rebellious niece. He would never trade Ezio for anything, but he does wish she had a bit more sense in her brain.

He sighs before returning the Apple to its pouch and placing it inside of his bureau.

Tomorrow. He’ll talk to Ezio tomorrow and try and get her to see sense. Until then, he thinks he’s earned the right to sleep relatively worry free.


	13. Il Mentore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vittoria sometimes is amazed by her mentor's understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little sign about how comfortable Ezio now is as himself.

Ezio is also by far the most sympathetic man Vittoria has ever met in her entire life when it comes to the issues of womanhood. It’s strange, because she normally would never seek men out to help, but there is something special about _Il Mentore_ that gives him the ability to be whatever is needed. Whether it’s talking one of the women through their relationship with all the _stupid_ men in Italia, or defusing the tension that occasionally builds between the females when their cycles are synced in a bad way, Ezio remains calm, collected, and _understanding._ He also doesn’t shirk from the bloody details of womanhood like other men do. Something which Vittoria learns after Ezio finds her curled up in her bed, crippled by the intense cramps. She uncharacteristically shouts at him to go away, she doesn’t want _Il Mentore_ seeing her this way—

He sits on the bed next to her which is usually occupied by Diana, (who is on a mission to Budapest with three other girls), and extends a towel towards her. She accepts it mostly out of habit, and almost throws it off the bed at how _hot_ it is. She carefully pulls the towel towards her with her nails and finds a copper canteen inside, practically fizzing with heat.

“Press it against your stomach. Be careful not to move the towel, or the canteen will burn you,” Ezio says, sitting across from her. His eyes are shadowed by his hood, as they always are, making him look so aloof and companionable at the same time.

The canteen trick helps considerably. When the heat fades, Ezio brings her another towel wrapped canteen, much to her embarrassment, but never says anything more than the light small talk of missions and the Order. After one day of extreme cramps, she feels well enough to move around the hideout without worrying about falling over with pain. She isn’t well enough to go out into the field, something which Ezio, upon his first time hearing her admit the extent of her painful cramps, took in stride. She hates it. The other women do not suffer as much as she does, and Vittoria sometimes wonders if God is punishing her. That’s usually when one of the other girls comes and comforts her. They’re all gone though, and it’s just Ezio and the men— and of them, Ezio is the only one brave enough to approach her when she’s sitting down at the table to eat.

“Uh, I feel much better, _Il Mentore,_ ” she says as he approaches her and sets his plate down across from her.

“That is good to hear.” He nods in acknowledgement. She feels indescribably awkward, but he seems unbothered by the atmosphere, or maybe he just doesn’t sense it the way she does.

“After this meal, I’d like you to join me in some stretches.”

Working on her flexibility is about the last thing Vittoria wants to do right now, but she can never say no to the man that pulled her up from her purposeless life before the Order. And so after lunch they move into one of the more spacious rooms, away from the other members. Vittoria removes her outer layer so she wears a man’s shirt and leggings. Ezio, as ever, only removes his cloak, leaving the lower robe intact. The only other thing he changes is that he removes most of his outer weapons, one by one by one by one. Grenades, crossbow bolts, vials of medicine and poison, throwing knives, the sultan’s dagger, his rapier, and even one of his bracers comes off, the one he uses for poison, she knows. He pulls his arms back a few times before focusing on her.

“This will help you feel better sooner,” he says, sitting. She freezes for a few moments before joining him on the floor.

“ _Il Mentore,”_ she can’t help but blush, “I’m doing better, really. There is no need to do this.” He never does this with the other girls. She isn’t _weak._

“Think of it as flexibility training,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “I’m going through them so you may as well join me.”

She hesitates but nods, still unbelievably embarrassed. He leads her through a series of stretches that make her muscles protest something awful. Her stomach acts up the whole time and she almost calls it quits but then Ezio turns towards her with a single encouraging word—

_“Bene.”_

_—_ and that’s really all it takes for her to get through it.

“I think that’s enough,” Ezio says after they pulled their feet towards the back of their heads, nearly breaking her spine.

At his words she barely resists collapsing. She moves to force herself to sit up, when Ezio just lies down flat on his back. After a moment, Vittoria copies.

“How do you feel?” he asks, looking towards her from the corner of his eye.

She’s tentative to tell him exactly how much her muscles are burning, when she pauses and realizes that her cramps have surprisingly calmed. The thick ring of knots that were pulling at her stomach all day are shrunken down until she only feels a dull throb, unlike the jabbing sensation from before.

“I feel— a lot better.” She can’t keep the amazement from her voice and he chuckles lightly.

Ezio is breathing a little heavily, but he looks incredibly relaxed as well.

“Thank you, _Il Mentore.”_ And she really hopes that even though he isn’t looking at her he can still sense her gratefulness.

“Like I said, I was going to stretch anyways,” he shrugs. “If you’d like to join me again some other time, don’t be afraid to ask.”

Vittoria doesn’t think she will hesitate again. Because despite the fact that all of the girls were gone, she found comfort, empathy, and help all done in such a way that she can’t bring herself to feel embarrassed. He doesn’t shirk from the bloody parts at all, but he also doesn’t pay them mind either, unlike the other men. She’s overheard some of her male colleagues guessing (rather successfully, she admits) who is on their period and when. But never Ezio. He and his sister must have been incredibly close growing up.

The again, Ezio may just be that kind of man who takes things as they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Chalybeous~


	14. Mio Collega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La Volpe makes an interesting discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh love, love, love for Chalybeous, my fabulous Beta~

La Volpe is scanning the mission maps when the front door to the main hideout bursts open. He expects an attack or an unannounced visit from the boisterous Bartolomeo. Instead, he finds a mercenary carrying a white-clad bloody figure. Their face is hidden, and La Volpe wonders which novice it is. A doctor rushes in past him.

“Make room. I need somewhere to work.”

Machiavelli is the last to come in, and his expression is tense. La Volpe stands from his place at the table and clears the books and papers from it.

“Place Ezio over there,” Machiavelli orders the mercenary, and La Volpe knows now why there is such an unusually anxious energy around his colleague. As the mercenary lays the person on the table, La Volpe can clearly see that the wounded person does indeed turn out to be Ezio, their fellow leader. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder at an awkward angle, and he’s barely conscious, likely from the pain from the arrow and any other injuries his robes cover.

“That will be all,” Machiavelli says dismissively to the mercenary who eagerly ducks out from Machiavelli’s intimidating gaze.

Now it is only the four of them in the room.

The plague doctor works quickly, undoing the various buckles and knots in record time. When he opens the coat though, he finds more layers beneath and hisses a little in aggravation. La Volpe empathizes. How much clothing is Ezio wearing? The layers are thick too, and he can’t fathom how Ezio can run under the hot Italian sun without passing out with all these layers. The doctor finally reaches the bottom layer and finds one last setting of bandages which are thickly wrapped around the man’s torso. As the layers come off, Ezio’s figure is revealed to be much smaller than it seems, slender almost, so the thief supposes that he might understand why he wears the layers he does. Physical presence does matter, after all.

Needing to reach his upper shoulder, the doctor moves forward with his scissors.

“No, nooo, don’t.”

All of them are startled to see Ezio has regained consciousness. The higher pitch of his tone is almost lost on them, except La Volpe, whose eyebrow raises curiously.

“The arrow must come out, Ezio.” Machiavelli’s voice is firm.

“—n’t care ‘bout the arrow. Juss don’t.” Ezio’s words slur together and the plague doctor pulls a small vial from his pouch and tips it down the assassin’s protesting throat. After some coughing and sputtering, everything is quite again and the plague doctor finally cuts off the bandages.

La Volpe’s mind goes uncharacteristically blank. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Machiavelli.

“H-he’s a woman!”

Well, La Volpe understands why Ezio didn’t want them removing the bandages. His common sense overwhelms his shock and he shakes his head twice to regain himself. The doctor has done similarly and he barks at the pair of them.

“Hold his shoulder, both of you! We need to get the arrow out and stop the poison.”

“So Ezio is a woman,” La Volpe murmurs as he grabs the left, uninjured shoulder.

“Hold his shoulder!” the doctor snaps at the other man in the room.

“Her. It’s her shoulder,” Machiavelli says.

“I don’t care whose shoulder it is! Just hold it.”

Despite the conflict La Volpe can plainly see on his colleague’s face, Machiavelli complies, keeping a gentle, but firm grip around the damaged skin. The arrow hadn’t gone through, and so the doctor is forced to pull it out the hard way. After ripping more skin, he quickly staunches the blood flow. The doctor then makes quick work of repairing the damage, and La Volpe watches six neat stitches cover the wound until it’s sufficiently closed before the doctor starts winding bandages over Ezio’s body.

“Rest and relaxation for this one. Change the bandage twice a day, and have him, er, her drink plenty of water,” the doctor prescribes.

La Volpe smoothly steps forward, pulling a handful of florins from his own pocket and handing them to the doctor.

“Your discretion would be much appreciated,” La Volpe says before the doctor can leave, and maybe it sounds threatening, he doesn’t know, but the doctor nods twice hastily before disappearing out of the door.

The room is suddenly silent. La Volpe turns back to the wooden table Ezio rests on. That blood won’t come out easy, he thinks. He also notices Machiavelli’s intent stare at Ezio, whose clothes had been ripped down the middle. La Volpe walks towards the table before grabbing Ezio carefully in both arms and carrying her to her room. He was going to ask Machiavelli for help, but finds the relatively unladen Ezio to be lighter than expected. The fact she is a woman likely helps.

La Volpe senses Machiavelli stop behind him, hovering outside of the entrance. The thief enters and shuts the door after him to grant the other man some solitude to think.

The thief proceeds to remove what remains of her outer robes (how her hood stayed on during the whole thing is an utter mystery to him, but it did), before tossing a loose shirt over her head. He leaves her pants on, unwilling to do any more than he has to. The boots go off, and the blood on Ezio’s pants will likely ruin her sheets.

La Volpe doesn’t care. Ezio owes him for this one. Big time. It’s a good thing that none of the apprentices are here, he thinks. He and Machiavelli are having enough trouble sorting it out on their own, let alone dealing with a dozen other impressionable men and women.

That reminds him . . .

He leaves Ezio’s room, shutting the door after him, and finds Machiavelli standing over the other table in the room, appearing to stare at the many maps. La Volpe knows better.

“Our fellow leader is a woman.” Machiavelli does not turn around as he speaks.

“So she is,” La Volpe replies mildly.

“She’s a woman. Ezio Auditore— if that _is_ her real name,” Machiavelli spits the words out, “Has been lying to us from the start.”

“ _Si.”_

“ _Si?”_ Machiavelli exclaims, turning around heatedly. “ _Si?!_ Do you not understand the weight of Ezio’s lies?!”

La Volpe does. He really does. There’s nothing about this he likes or approves of, but one of them needs to be the voice of rationality, and from the tempestuous look on the other man’s face, he knows it must be him.

The thief inclines his head in understanding. “I do. However it does not matter in the end.”

Machiavelli’s lips curl. “Our leader is some kind of cross-dressing homosexual, and that is your reply to the situation? What kind of leader is that?!”

“The only one we have,” La Volpe points out. “We have no choice in the matter. Ezio is too deeply entangled in the Brotherhood’s affairs for us to take any kind of action.”

“It is not Ezio alone who runs the Brotherhood.” Machiavelli’s words are grudging but empty, and La Volpe knows he has won.

“It must not be leaked she is a woman. None of the apprentices can know. They are too loyal to her. If they lose faith in Ezio, then the _Order_ loses them.”

“We don’t have a choice anymore.” The tactician’s face is still bitter. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. She—he— whatever Ezio calls herself, is either hiding her identity, or is a closet case of insanity.”

La Volpe knows that Machiavelli can think of no other options. The thief can though. He nods slightly to Machiavelli before grabbing a nearby chair and heading back into Ezio’s room. He places the chair down, and sets himself up to wait while Machiavelli steams and mutters curses in the main room. La Volpe uses the time to examine the prone features of his colleague. Without the hood, he can see all of Ezio’s face at once. She is pretty, symmetrical features and full lips he never seemed to notice before now, but he is too used to seeing those lips shouting passionately at her enemies to view them in any other way than being Ezio’s lips.

Only an hour or two pass before La Volpe finds Ezio stirring. The assassin’s face is twisted in pain as her eyes open and she takes in her surroundings.

“La Volpe?” she murmurs, looking bewildered.

The thief says nothing, only stares. It’s a few moments before Ezio either remembers what happened before or notices the lack of layers, because her gaze darts down and her face pales rapidly. Her breath quickens and La Volpe admits this is the most unsettled he’s ever seen his colleague. It’s disconcerting.

“Who knows?” she manages after a time.

“Only the doctor, Machiavelli, and I,” La Volpe replies, and he’s minutely relieved to see her uncoil her grip from the sheets. She then covertly draws them up, over the upper part of her body.

“And what do you two think?”

“Machiavelli thinks you’re an abnormality.”

She swallows but nods.

“And you?”

“I think that as long as you do the job, nothing else matters.”

Her breathing evens out, although he knows her pallor won’t return for some time yet.

“We must keep this secret. If any of the apprentices found out they’d lose morale.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” Ezio leans forward and rubs her face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve had this exact same nightmare.” She turns towards him. “Normally you’re also calling me a freak though.”

“You’ve been lying to me from the very start,” La Volpe says. “But it’s too late to separate you from the brotherhood. You’re too tightly interwoven.”

“I know.”

“Besides that though, you’ve pulled the hood over my eyes for years now. It’s more impressive than anything else.”

“Outfoxing the fox, hm?” She smiles for the first time since La Volpe has been in the room and he’s momentarily taken aback by its soft glow.

“Your jokes are awful.”

“I’ve heard.” Her light expression turns into a serious one. “I must tell you what I discovered. We have until tonight to act or the Bishop of Milan will escape with Cesare’s orders. We can’t let him gather more forces.”

“I’ll get my guild members on the street and target his location.” He eyes her skeptically. “Will you be up to the task?”

She moves to stand, grimacing all the way. “I’ll have to be.” She smiles a little. “Besides, if not, I always have this to keep me going anyways.” Opening the drawer of a nearby nightstand, La Volpe can see several vials of numbing medicine Ezio is so fond of. No rational human being would put themselves in danger like that except Ezio.

“We will speak of this afterwards,” La Volpe warns.

“Of course.” Ezio pauses. “But I must say that I am a man. Don’t think of me any other way.”

La Volpe resists a sigh. She is an utter abnormality, but he figures that’s what they’ll need to turn the tides of this soundless war they’ve been fighting for hundreds of years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mio Collega = My colleague
> 
> So yeah, we have a bit of *something* here. You'll have to wait to see it resolved I'm afraid. Thanks for all the support!


	15. Il Mentore 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fabiola admires her mentor.

One day, Fabiola is heading out the door in her newest spring dress to go shopping with a few of the other women in the Order. It’s as she’s reviewing the list of things to get—more bandages, belts from the tailor, and maybe even flowers— that she’s caught by the elbow. She slams her other elbow back and is met with nothing but air.

“Peace, peace, I mean you no harm, Fabiola.”

She pales a little as she realizes who exactly she attempted to attack. The other girls are smiling and Ezio just waves them away for a private word with her.

“Sorry, _Il Mentore,”_ she says as he gently pulls her back into the Base. She just barely catches the other girls turning the corner to reach the front of the tailor shop before the door closes.

He guides her in and towards a private alcove, out of sight from the main room. “Do not worry, just keep your elbow a little lower in the future. Men are especially weak to such attacks.”

She laughs loudly, and from beneath the shadow of his hood she can see a smirk.

“Oh, what is it, _Il Mentore?”_ she asks.

“Your dress,” he says gesturing. Her hands fly towards the top of her dress, hoping to God that she has not flashed her leader on accident. Everything seems intact.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and without thinking, without hesitating, she turns.

“Someone tied this wrong,” he says, and she feels a fingertip at the bodice laces.

“Must have been Vittoria. This is a new dress from Firenze, so I suppose she did it wrong. I’ll go get her to fix it—“

“She will likely mess up again. Firenze has its own pace and style, its own pulse. I’ll take care of it, just hold still.”

Fabiola freezes in place. What could she even say to such a thing? A man, her mentor, _Ezio—_ she didn’t want him doing this— seeing her this way, in this girlish way, with her corset almost undone. Before she can say anything, Ezio grabs two of the laces and pulls.

Her breath catches, as it does every time her corset gets laced. After a long mission, she is so accustomed to the loose feeling of her assassin’s robes, that putting on the dresses has become considerably more difficult as time stretches on.

Fabiola feels her leader’s agile fingers lacing different sections in what seems a more complex way. There is no hesitation though. He knows what he’s doing.

She knows that her leader is a bit of a womanizer. He flirts with many of the women he meets, but in an almost perfunctory way. He has a favorite whorehouse, she knows, apparently he is on rather good terms with the owner. Before even getting to know him she senses he is a sexual creature . . . but not once has he looked at Fabiola in any way that suggested he was looking at something besides her fighter’s spirit. Maybe that is why she feels more at ease. With that comforting thought in mind, she allows him to continue lacing up her bodice while her eyes wander towards the fine pale blue fabric that made up her dress.

She never thought that she’d be allowed to wear these kinds of clothes again, really.

She knows that she signed away all of her rights to pretty things, to balls ( _which are too public, stick to the shadows),_ to necklaces ( _which can be pulled to knock a person off balance while she delivers the final blow),_ and everything that goes with them. She traded her corset for a hidden blade and has never regretted it . . . but there are times when she still feels like going out, like dressing up, like wearing a corset. And thanks to Ezio, she can have both.

Their lives are supposed to belong to the Order. They became assassins, and everything that came with it. The Order is their Brotherhood, their work, their home— all of it was nonnegotiable. . . But every now and then, each of them wants to go outside for the day in normal clothes, to see Rome in the daylight, to go to a dress store, a brothel, or to sit on a bench and just look at what they’re protecting.

Ezio, upon hearing Carlo talking about the new whorehouse in the central district, and how he wished he could—

 _Il Mentore_ blandly suggested that they could go on their time off if they wanted. Everyone was gobsmacked as they each realized they had never actually asked. He then amended the statement, because obviously they would need to leave in an inconspicuous way, and not all at once, and wearing different clothes.

All of them were surprised . . . and happy. Machiavelli was not happy, but Fabiola does not care. While she does respect the man for his technical prowess and dry humor, she will never admire him the same way she does Ezio, who has done so much for her.

It’s a little sad, she realizes later on, that they are allowed to wear different things and go outside their life of the Order a little— but Ezio never will. His mind, heart, and body, all belong to the Order. She has never seen him wearing anything besides his robe. Even when exercising, he wears most of it, maybe taking off the sash and outer vest. In fact, his hood is up most all the time, even as he dismisses himself and goes to bed.

She wonders what he was like before this. Charming, she knows. Probably a rascal, mischievous. When he was in his home—

She suddenly realizes.

“Oh.”

Ezio slows his stitching to ask, “Am I pulling to tight?”

“No, it isn’t that, just, your hometown is Firenze, isn’t it.” Because she’s only heard his full name twice— once when he first recruited her to the Order and once when he recruited Filippo, her fellow assassin. _Ezio Auditore da Firenze._ The cadence of the phrase matches his personality perfectly, she can’t help but think.

“Ah, Firenze. A beautiful town indeed.”

“Is that why you know how to do this?”

Now Ezio’s hands pause. “Yes.”

“And you helped your sister?”

“Sometimes.”

“You are awfully familiar with it.”

His lips twitch, and Fabiola knows if it was someone else he would be making plenty of innuendos, but he doesn’t breach that line with any of his fellow assassins in the brotherhood. The barrier between friend and mentor remains strong . . . but as ever, with Ezio the line is fraught with strange nuances that one never discovers until it has happened. Like how her mentor can lace up her corset but still have the relationship of master and student, of comrade, of colleague— how it isn’t transformed into anything more than a kind gesture from the man that is her idol.

“One picks up many things in life.” With one last tug he finishes tying her corset, and she turns to face him. As ever, most of his face is covered by the shadow of his hood, but his bright eyes can always be seen.

“There is a mission I’d like to talk to you about, but it can wait,” he informs her.

“Thank you, _Il Mentore.”_

“It was nothing, now go before the shops close.” He dismisses her with a wink, walking back towards the table that’s covered with maps from a dozen countries.

She smiles to herself before exiting into the streets of Tiber Island.

 _Il Mentore_ is a man unlike any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small snippet to show Ezio is comfortable being who he is. The drama of the previous chapter will be resolved in the next one! Thanks for reading.
> 
> Much love to Chalybeous for beta-ing~


	16. Mia Comprensione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Machiavelli begins to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm at NPDA! Happy Ides of March!

Machiavelli sits on the bench, stewing. He’s been sitting for the past thirty minutes, watching the entry of the palazzo, waiting to see a flash of white cloth emerge. The area is filled with people, doing whatever it is normal people do. Machiavelli does not care for their trifles. His mind is more possessed by the betrayal of a comrade— a _man_ he once looked up to as a beacon for the future. In the end that man does not exist. Instead he is left with a talented female assassin who crossdresses and plays pretend games. He is not at all understanding about what is going on in his Order, but he can’t worry about that right now. For the sake of the Order he cannot afford to. All he can focus on at the moment is whether Ezio achieves the mission.

Alarmed shouts for _“More reinforcements”_ and “ _We need more men around the perimeter”,_ and worst of all “ _Assassino!”_ —can be heard even from outside the building. Machiavelli tenses in irritation. Ezio’s sudden triggering of the guards does nothing to soothe his current temperament.

He almost leaves, unwilling to stick his neck out any further for someone so incredibly _stupid_ — when he spies a woman looking around rather anxiously. Her nervous behavior makes her stick out in the crowd considerably (at least to Machiavelli’s eyes, he doubts most would notice). She must be in her late thirties. Perhaps looking for her children, or husband then. Her clothes are a little more risqué than a woman her age should be wearing, and maybe that’s why he can’t seem to take his gaze from the odd image she presents. There’s just something peculiar. Perhaps her physical appearance is what draws his attention. Though a rather fine yellow and off-white corset is laced up her back tightly, accenting her rather impressive chest like it does all women, her figure seems to rebel against the constraining hourglass shape, pushing it outwards, so it’s less curvy. Not that she is fat, no, more athletic than any woman he’s seen. In fact, she’s certainly broader than most too. Powerful arms stretch the sleeves of the dress tightly, so an athlete, or perhaps an avid horse rider. With skin far darker than most aristocratic women, she must spend some time outside. He can’t see her as being in the working class with clothes as fine as those though. There’s also a bundle of cloth in her hands, gripped tightly enough for him to stare at it curiously.

As though sensing his eyes on her, the woman turns towards him suddenly. Their eyes lock and Machiavelli finds a startling spark of recognition in her gaze. Always alert, he readies himself to leave (by this point he knows that even women can be dangerous, if Lucrezia and the female assassins in the Brotherhood are anything to go by . . . and perhaps Ezio, apparently).

The lady is moving extremely stiffly, but there is a decisiveness in her steps. She isn’t just walking towards a bench, she is walking towards Machiavelli. His curiosity, for better or worse, keeps him in his seat.

Upon reaching the bench she sits beside him a little closer than an average stranger might. The movement is stilted, and he wonders if she is plagued by some anxiety that he aggravates. She might be scared to approach him if she knows the truth about what he does. Or maybe she just has back problems. She crosses her legs almost as an afterthought. She then leans forward a little and sets her elbows on her knees before lacing her fingers. There is something incredibly familiar about the action. Before he can ponder it too long, the lady is speaking to him.

“Machiavelli.” The voice is deeper than Machiavelli would normally expect from a woman but he brushes it off.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” He keeps his voice low, only daring to glance at her from the corner of his eyes. He hears a choked off breath before a sharp exhale.

“It’s me, Ezio,” she admits, and Machiavelli can’t help but turn and face her fully, because he can’t understand what’s happening.

 _No._ There is _no_ way.

She has dark brown hair, the majority of which is hidden by a _trinzale_ so the length is a mystery to him _._ What little he sees from his view on her side is two groups of bangs that lie on either side of her face, framing it in a way he admits is slightly similar to his colleague, but there’s still so much that doesn’t make sense. She’s _beautiful._ In a nonconventional way to be sure, but Machiavelli has never been too fond of the overly dainty ladies— and this woman is decidedly not, with her tan skin and visible musculature. Though the woman is not delicate, there are just enough details to form a rather pretty picture. The dark eyelashes and high cheekbones are her most prominent features, in fact he’d call her face a sculpture if it wasn’t for the scar that ran up the side of her mouth—

“Ezio!” he exhales suddenly in surprise as the pieces click together.

“Hello, Machiavelli.” He— _she_ (he corrects in his mind) looks just about as tired as Machiavelli feels.

“What happened? Why are you dressed like that?” Although it doesn’t suit her perfectly, she is wearing the proper garments that a woman should be wearing, something Ezio railed against before. Even the other women in the Order would change into nicer, feminine outfits when they go out in their time off. Not Ezio though.

“I caught a few too many knives. My clothes were covered in too much blood, and I knew I couldn’t get out the gates in them.”

It’s then that Machiavelli notices that the bundle of cloth in Ezio’s hands must hold her clothes.

“I was out of options so I ducked into a nearby room to buy a little time and patch my wounds.”

“And procure some clothes,” Machiavelli guesses.

“Yes. These belong to the darling Lucrezia. It was all I could find.”

Machiavelli coughs to hide the sudden surprise he feels. Ezio is not only wearing a dress, but she’s wearing the clothes of the enemy. He’s suddenly struck by how strange his life has gotten recently.

“Did you get the job done at least?” Machiavelli asks. There’s silence, and that’s when he notices that Ezio is trembling. His eyes dart around their surroundings, looking for something that could trigger such a reaction, but finds nothing. He turns back to Ezio. What he finds startles him.

His colleague’s gaze is blank, focused on her hands, yet not seeing them, Machiavelli senses. Her eyes are darker, and they seem duller somehow that has nothing to do with the shade her slightly bowed head casts.

“Ezio,” Machiavelli says, trying to covertly get her attention. There isn’t a single movement except perhaps an increase in trembling.

“Ezio,” Machiavelli says more sharply this time. He takes and squeezes one of her hands (and it’s far smaller than it should be for a man, and he wonders how on earth he missed it for so long).

She jerks in her seat, glancing around frantically. The brief burst of light in her eyes fades again, back to a dull brown— and he’s never once thought anything about his colleague was dull before now.

“Sorry, what was the question?”

Machiavelli would be more than ready to continue on this train of thought if it weren’t for the fact that Ezio is still trembling. It’s mostly a faint tremor at the moment, which he is grateful for. Despite Ezio’s _excellent_ disguise, they still shouldn’t risk drawing any attention to themselves.

“Is the job done?” Machiavelli repeats, banishing his concern. They don’t have time for this.

“ _Si,_ ” is the reply he receives. There is no confident one-liner that Ezio is so fond of. There is no rambling explanation of how the job went as Machiavelli still gets on occasion, and is thus reminded that Ezio is rather young . . . in spirit perhaps. There is nothing more than a short, terse word.

“What’s wrong?” Machiavelli presses, because even he has a limit for these things.

“It’s nothing,” Ezio lies.

“Did something happen on the mission?”

Ezio’s eyes are getting blank again. “No. Everything went according to plan. Everything except— well . . .” Ezio is fading out again and Machiavelli grips her arm this time. The fine cloth contrasts with the hard muscle he feels beneath it in a dichotomy of strange sensations.

“Is it the clothes?” And Machiavelli normally wouldn’t ask such a stupid question, because this is _Il Mentore_ he’s talking about, the man— _woman_ who takes arrows and bullets without a single tear. The thought of something as petty as clothes setting her off is utterly ridiculous. He doesn’t even know why he—

“I—” Ezio starts before stopping with a short sharp nod. Machiavelli blinks in disbelief, looking for any sign of a lie.

Ezio ducks his gaze and faces forward. He can’t find a lie in her body language at all. What he does find though is the tremor, the whiteness of her knuckles which she’s fisted tightly, her tense body, pretty face burdened—

“It’s been nearly three decades since I wore a dress last,” Ezio confesses, and her eyes are now trained on the frilly lace around the cuffs. “I forgot how it felt.”

“These are the clothes you _should_ be wearing, Ezio,” Machiavelli feels the need to say.

“I will say it as many times as I need to,” Ezio says, “I am not a woman.”

“Your chest seems to suggest otherwise,” Machiavelli can’t help but quip. There is the smallest of flinches from Ezio, which she tries to hide, but they both know she failed. And Machiavelli can’t believe that Ezio is actually getting so bothered by a dress— something that she really ought to be wearing anyways.

“Only a woman would get so upset over a dress.” He’s blatantly irritated by now.

“How would you like it if I pushed _you_ into a corset?”

Machiavelli snorts. “That’s different. I’m a man—“

“How would you feel if we shoved you in a woman’s body?”

“Ezio,” Machiavelli interrupts, or at least he tries to. She has reached the threshold of some invisible barrier and now that it’s broken she won’t stop. He figures it’s mostly habit that keeps her voice quiet.

“Would you like it if you had to wear your hair like _this?_ Or put up with these shoes, and the dress—”

“You’re supposed to be wearing a dress,” Machiavelli cuts her off.

She stares at him long and hard before speaking again. “Before any of this came out, could you see me wearing a dress?”

“No,” Machiavelli is willing to concede, but that doesn’t change the fact Ezio is a woman. He just hadn’t known before.

“Me neither, because that is who I am. Me, that person, would never wear a dress. But, this person, this isn’t me! I’m not here right now, I’m not me _me_.” And Ezio looks on the cusp of a nervous breakdown.

“I-I don’t know who I am right now. It feels like I’m losing myself!” she confesses in a rush of raw syllables that make Machiavelli shudder from the coarseness.

“Ezio . . .”

“You don’t get what it’s like not to fit in your own body,” Ezio says, quieter, “To have no one _understand_ who you are, because they take one look at your chest and reach their own goddamn conclusions, and you know what, it isn’t fucking fair Machiavelli. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to live like _this._ But I do. This is my life, and I deal with it the best can and I don’t need to put up with your shit in addition to everything else.”

Machiavelli stares at his colleague. As he takes all of it in, his eyes catch on the awkward fit of the corset, and if that doesn’t explain the situation fully than Machiavelli doesn’t know what will. It fits Ezio, maybe a tad awkwardly. But it doesn’t suit Ezio. Not at all. The person beside him, he realizes, is the person he knew those weeks ago, and he thinks seeing that person so cut up is a complete failure of his duty as a fellow member of the Brotherhood, and as a friend. And even if it’s something stupid, like a dress—

“Wait here. I’m going to get some of your clothes. Try not to set off any guards,” Machiavelli says with no real steel. Ezio’s eyes widen and she— _he_ looks towards Machiavelli with light again. The other man just turns away, leaving his friend on the bench.

Machiavelli can’t bear to look back, because his sudden understanding is almost overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mia Comprensione = My understanding.  
> Thanks Chalybeous for the beta job~


	17. Il Mentore 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filippo shares some of his knowledge with a new recruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for betaing Chaly-darling~

Filippo is one of the earliest recruits, and as such, he often mentors the newer members. He makes it his personal mission to talk to every new man before they start training so they have someone to come to with questions . . . and also to save them from saying something incredibly stupid without realizing it. So when Alfonso Contarini joins the Order, Filippo pulls him to the side into the vacated armory after his first dinner.

“ _Si?”_ Alfonso asks, and Filippo resists a smile. He answers like a civilian. He will soon be replying like a novice speaking to a superior, biding his time to join the upper ranks. Filippo declines against correcting him. There will be time for that later and there are _much_ more pressing matters.

“You noticed we have a lot of women in Brotherhood, _si?”_

 _“Si,”_ Alfonso replies uncertainly.

“Never treat them like they’re weaker.”

Alfonso stares at him. “But they are.”

“Not here they aren’t.”

“But they really are physically weaker.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Filippo agrees, “but they’re pretty fast.”

“They’re women though,” Alfonso protests, seeming unable to put into words what he feels to be obvious. Filippo understands, not only has he done this a million times, but he thought very similarly upon joining the Brotherhood. That was before Ezio, upon hearing his derogatory comment towards Vittoria, invited him into the ring for supplementary training. He learned his lesson.

“I know, I know,” Filippo placates, “but _Il Mentore_ does not tolerate it. They must be treated equal.”

“He is a man, surely he understands?” Alfonso sounds a little desperate by now.

The senior member sighs. “ _Il Mentor_ once told me that if we want them to watch our back then we should treat them like we would each other.” And in the heat of battle, Filippo has found that it doesn’t really matter what gender saves him. No, all that matters is having allies to trust. Treating everyone fairly doesn’t seem like such a big deal when he thinks of it that way.

“This is a _Brotherhood_ though, women shouldn’t be allowed in anyways!”

“Shh, shh!” Filippo turns and looks around nervously. “Look, _Il Mentore_ will beat you into the dirt if he hears you saying things like that. If you don’t believe me about the women part, at least believe that,” Filippo says.

Alfonso makes a displeased face. “I just don’t get it. Women are weaker. They shouldn’t be here.”

Filippo wants to groan at the petulance of his tone. Clearly Alfonso does not know the extent of Ezio’s power, because inciting Ezio’s anger is many of the members’ greatest fears. He’s _frightening_ when angry. But there isn’t anything Filippo can say to communicate the truth, so he shakes his head.

“If you can’t agree with our mentor’s beliefs, you don’t belong to the Order,” Filippo says before walking out and leaving a very befuddled novice behind.

Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of women, because _Il Mentore’s_ opinion will always be the most important.

+

“He definitely has one.” Giotto says decisively. Filippo and he are sitting on the bird perch above the hideout, discussing what they Vittoria told them happened between Ezio and his sister while they were on a mission.

“You’re kidding, right?” Filippo replies.

“He has to! It’s the only thing that makes sense!”

And Filippo might have to concede defeat this time, because he too struggles, like all of them in the order, to understand Ezio’s staunch refusal to allow his sister into the Order.

All of them doubt it’s a gender issue, as he certainly seems to believe women are strong enough to be assassins. He trained four of them to Master Assassin, and cuts down any misogynistic language from the other men harshly. Ezio believes women are strong, obviously, and from what passing glimpses Filippo has seen of Claudia, she appears to be tough (she certainly has a sharp tongue).

The only thing they can assume is that it’s more of a family thing. Still . . . Filippo can’t help but think they’re missing something, because the air around the two is charged with a tension she doesn’t understand. Perhaps this is a sore subject for both of them, and that is why Claudia eyes her brother with such fury.

Ezio’s vehemence has built several theories— the most popular being that he has a sister complex.

“He’s got a complex,” Giotto presses.

“You might be right.” Filippo concedes.

“ _He_ has nothing!”

Both men jump and turn around slowly. Ezio is leaning against the open door, and Filippo has no doubt he heard the majority of their idle arguing.

“Of course, M-M-Mentore,” Giotto stutters.

“We didn’t mean—“ Filippo starts.

“It wasn’t—“

“Really, we—“

“Nothing at all—“

Both of them fall silent when Ezio holds up a hand.

“Training ring. Twenty minutes.”

Both men shudder.

“Oh, and it may interest you two gossipers to know that Claudia will be inducted into the Brotherhood next week.”

Filippo looks skyward and prays to the Holy Mother for an urgent assignment to come up in the next twenty minutes.

It’s about five minutes later, as he’s coming down the stairs, that La Volpe enters the room in a rush and tells Ezio about the Compostela. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of the 'Brotherhood' era. Onto revelations! 3 chapters left . . . aw the ending is coming so rapidly! Thanks for all the kudos and comments~


	18. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond has a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Chaly darling for beta-ing

The sharp cry of a boiling teakettle makes Desmond groan and drop his head to his hands. Lunch is supposed to be a time for him to relax. Having his ears assaulted by the irritatingly loud teakettle that whistles every hour or so is enough to make him rip out his hair.

Desmond’s head hurts. These days it’s the norm and he isn’t sure if it’s a sign that the bleeding effect is melting his brain or just the strain of trying to deal with Ezio’s very confusing life. Either way, Shawn’s tea habit really doesn’t help. At all.

“Here, Desmond,” Rebecca says, sitting across from him at their improvised little kitchen in one of the corner alcoves. It isn’t a kitchen at all, so much as a mini fridge, Bunsen burner, and a round table with four chairs.

He raises his head from his hands for a few moments to accept the six Ibuprofen from the computer engineer and swallows them each consecutively, dry. This has become a regular scene after he exists the Animus. If he wasn’t worrying about the end of the world he might’ve been concerned about his liver.

“How’re ya holding up?”

“Fine,” he answers reflexively. Not like he can reply anything else, because he sort of has to be anyway. He likes to imagine that maybe all of them understand that already, because he thinks by this point it’s obvious he’s not.

“No, really,” she says emphatically, “how are you? If you need to shorten the Animus sessions, we can.”

No they can’t. He knows that even without Shawn’s spluttering as the Brit pulls the kettle from the Bunsen burner.

“Nah, it’s okay. It isn’t the animus that’s giving me a headache, really.”

“Ezio then?” she guesses.

Desmond nods. “It’s hard being genderly-confused.”

“Feeling a bit like trying on some dresses are we, Desmond? I’m sure we can find some lovely yellows that will bring out the pigments in your eyes,” Shawn says as he grabs a mug from the makeshift cupboard they set up.

“Don’t be ignorant, Shaun,” Rebecca says irritably.

“I wasn’t—“

She cuts him off with a glare and he exhales heavily before turning his attention to the mini fridge, muttering about Americans.

“How is it, Desmond?” Rebecca asks, and he’s suddenly indescribably relieved to find the spark of caring in her eyes hasn’t faded despite how difficult the past month has been, nor how they’re running out of time and Desmond needs to go through these memories faster or else the world will end for reasonsDesonddoesn’teven _understand!_

He doesn’t say that though. Instead, he replies, “It’s so hard second guessing yourself so much. And Jesus, not fitting into your own skin is so awful.”

“Gives you a much better understanding, huh?” she muses.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess I just admire the guy— _girl.”_ Desmond pauses for a long moment. “ _Guy,_ a lot.”

Rebecca smiles widely and Desmond can’t help but crack one back. His mood isn’t even ruined when Shawn sits down across from him likely to interrogate him, because Desmond can see that even their historian is earnestly interested in it all for the sake of knowledge, which Desmond has never really valued before now but kind of likes at this point.

Shawn opens his mouth, likely to go on a spiel about gender denominations in northeast West Canadeuropia or some other bizarre place Desmond’s never heard of, when Lucy comes in and reminds them they need to start the session again, and Desmond remembers the impending doom and his headache returns. He sighs. The reprieve was nice while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done with "Brotherhood" now!


	19. L'uomo Piu Interessante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sofia contemplates the new man in her life.

Explaining her attraction to this quiet, dry-humored man is hard for Sofia. She isn’t sure how it happened, but somehow, Ezio draws her interest in a way no other man has. Maybe it’s each vague favor he does for her, or his stories that have so much information left out. Maybe it’s because of how he introduced himself to her.

“Only the most interesting man of your life;”

—was what he said. Technically, he introduced himself minutes before after entering her shop, but that greeting seemed somehow false compared to the other one. Maybe it’s how she could tell he wasn’t lying that draws her closer to him.

+

Sofia knows exactly how hard Ezio has been working when he dozes off during their picnic. Her idea was a good way for him to find some respite, she thinks, smiling. Although she had of course, intended this to end another way, but him catching up on sleep is good enough for her. Despite the indecency of the act, (everyone in Constantinople has such strict rules on propriety!) she scoots closer and allows her head to fall gently to Ezio’s chest. His arm unconsciously rises and wraps around her, pulling her closer. She barely resists laughing, because it seems Ezio isn’t out of the habit of sleeping with someone. Such an interesting man. Shifting her neck a little, she prepares to do the same as Ezio, when she notices an uncomfortable bump beneath her head. Sofia frowns and tries to find a more comfortable place, but whatever he’s keeping hidden inside his robe isn’t in just one place, and she frowns before trying to push it to the side.

Her mouth falls open. Because she knows what those are, she knows what that feels like, even beneath layers of cloth, because it’s how her own breasts feel. Holding her breath to stop herself from freaking out, she carefully picks her head up and wiggles in Ezio’s grip enough to make space for her to move. When she has enough room, she inches forward, towards his head that’s covered — _always covered—_ with the white hood. With shaking hands she pulls it down and can’t help the gasp that escapes her throat because there’s no escaping it. Because he— she— _Ezio_ is a woman.

Ezio must hear her quiet gasp, because his hand shoots out and he grabs Sofia’s arm in an iron grip. When Ezio’s eyes open, they’re glimmering gold, and she feels as though he’s looking straight through her.

“Let go of me, Ezio,” she orders, trying to keep her tone as calm as she can despite the rapid beating of her heart.

“Of course.” Eyes brown again, Ezio immediately surrenders his grip before running a hand through his greying brown hair. His hand freezes as he realizes his hood is gone.

Sofia has been staring at him all the while, because she’s never seen his face all at once. Ezio keeps his cowl up all the time, adding to his mystique and eccentricities. Now, she thinks maybe she’s unraveled one of the mysteries surrounding the man. Because his face is feminine. High cheekbones, and dark lashes still standout despite the wrinkles on his weary skin. She can see it now, and Ezio seems to realize it because he leaps to his feet in a moment of manic energy.

“Ezio,” Sofia says, because she has so many questions. Ezio shakes his head though, beginning to stumble backwards, away from her in horror and regret and shame and Sofia just wants him to _stop!_ Before she can find the right words, he’s run away from her and she’s alone with a place which moments ago, held sweet memories.

+

“Ezio,” she pants, heart still beating from the manic cart chase and near end of her companion’s life. They’re at the bookshop again, and still, her heart won’t stop.

“Sofia,” he says, emphatically, running worried hands over her forearms and elbows which are thoroughly scraped. Her injuries aren’t even comparable to the veritable plethora Ezio attires. His arm has to be broken, or at least sprained if the twitching of it is anything to go by. Other than scratches on his arms and neck, she can’t see any other wounds, but she did see him run into buildings, drop down on men with swords, and duel a man nearly to the death. Red blotches only tell her so much, because she has a feeling he is black and blue. He guides her to the large sofa and makes her sit while he digs in her cupboards for her medical supplies. He finds them in record time, and proceeds to bandage her arms as delicately as he can.

As he does, she finds her mind starting to process the information, all of its incredible and horrible details. He then takes care of the worst of his own injuries.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to get you caught up in all of this,” he says once he finishes, taking his hood off and wearily rubbing his face.

And suddenly, the most pressing matter on Sofia’s mind is not her near death experience.

“Ezio, are you a man or a woman?” she asks.

The assassin’s eyes are wide, and his arms subconsciously, rebelliously, drift to his chest protectively.

“No, I know about that already,” Sofia dismisses. “I’m asking about whether you are a man or a woman.”

“I am a man.” Ezio utters. And if his voice is higher and softer as he fights tears, she doesn’t say anything.

“Alright then.”

And then the tears fall. Sofia has no problem holding the crying assassin in her arms as he gets over some invisible barricade that has followed him around all his life.

“Thank you for asking!” he manages finally, and there are still tears in his honey-brown eyes. She can’t help but smile.

“Of course.” Now that she knows who he is, she can move onto other important matters. Sofia makes her expression stern. “But I do have some questions about the kinds of friends you keep.”

Ezio’s eyes widen slightly before his warm chuckle fills the air. “I usually keep better ones that do not attack me.”

“I want to know everything,” Sofia presses, and she means it in so many different ways.

He understands, as he always does, and nods his head.

“And so you shall.” He pauses for a moment. “Before I was seventeen, I had a large family, Federico was the oldest, then me, my sister, Claudia, and finally, Petruccio. We didn’t always live in Firenze, but when I was eleven a lot of things changed.”

Sofia nods and settles in for the most interesting story of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L'uomo Piu Interessante = the Most Interesting Man.
> 
> Hi everyone. Thanks for sticking through this with me. This has been an incredibly rewarding experience and a true delight. Thanks for all the hits, comments, and kudos. I can't believe it's really over . . . Someone pop some champagne, because this is also the first multi-chaptered fic I've ever finished. Ah, I'm making it sound like the end, but there's one more chapter left!
> 
> Also, so much love for Chalybeous for being such an incredible person in how they beta and critique a work. Working with you has been phenomenal. :) Much love Chalydarling~


	20. Mia Vita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His life.

He has lived a long life filled with adventure, and perhaps has made the world a better place. He has loved a wonderful woman, and miraculously been loved in return.

And he has been who he is, and right now he thinks that maybe it’s enough.

Enough to say he has lived a good life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mia Vita = My Life
> 
> The End.


End file.
